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What can this mean? ’ thought Florence. 


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Page 152. 







WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


BY 

ALISON BROOKE 






PHILADELPHIA 

Bmedcan :fiSapti0t iPubUcation Society 

1420 Chestnut Street 


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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cop*E8 Received 

MAY. 10 1901 

COPVRJGMT ENTRY 

CLASS<^,XXc. N». 

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COPY B. 


Copyright 1901 by the 
American Baptist Publication Society 





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ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘ What can this meanf^ thought Florence . . Frontispiece 


‘ Is anything the matter with mother f ’ ’’ 34 

He opened the gate and Folly passed out ” 102 

‘ Go on with your story ; I am getting interested' ” . . . 116 

^Robert,' said Mrs. Adams, ^ you huilded better than 
you knew ' " 136 

They read backward the past year of their lives " . . . . 180 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Overtaken 7 

II. Neil Carter’s Conversational Powers ... 12 

III. The Schoolroom 18 

IV. Flowers for Folly 22 

y. Poses and Thorns 28 

VI. At Midnight, a Cry 33 

VII. Realities 38 

VIII. Doctor Griffith 42 

IX. First Lessons in School Teaching 47 

X. An Inventory 51 

XL A Way Out . 57 

XII. In Bondage 62 

XIII. The Pride of Life 67 

XIV. The Announcement 71 

XV. A Spiritual Battle 77 

XVI. The Testing 82 

XVII. Folly takes the Initiative 87 

XVIII. House-hunting 93 

5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. Folly Meets a Friend 98 

XX. Humble Hopes 105 

XXI. An Impartial Discussion 112 

XXH. Kindlier Judgments. 118 

XXIII. Spirit-leveling 123 

XXIV. Mrs. Adams Makes a Discovery 131 

XXV. The AVorld Outside 140 

XXVI. The Summer Fires 149 

XXA'II. A Bundle of Letters 155 

XXA^III. The Fever 163 

XXIX. Conclusion 171 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


CHAPTER I 

OVKRTAKEN 

O NE bright October afternoon Miss Florence Rodnor 
started from her pleasant home to make a round 
of formal visits. 

A graceful, slender girl of twenty, Florence — known 
to her friends by her pet name Folly — was dressed in 
dark gray and unmistakably possessed that personal 
distinction known as style.’’ It was in the poise of 
her head, with its shimmer of fair hair against the 
broad brim of her stylish hat, in the outline of her 
shoulders, in the folds of her drapery held in one slen- 
der hand. 

Furthermore, Folly Rodnor was pretty, with large 
brown eyes to surprise you after her fair hair, with 
dark, fine brows, a dazzling smile, and a pure, deli- 
cately tinted skin. Her dress was in good fashion and 
taste, but an experienced eye would have detected signs 
of long usage and careful repair, of an effect of general 
elegance obtained by such contriving and painstaking 
skill as those could guess who, like her, had small 
means and large desires. One hand held a dainty card 

7 


8 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


case as, with a girl’s light heart, and the satisfaction of 
knowing perhaps that she was ‘‘pretty to walk with, 
and witty to talk with, and pleasant too to think on,” 
Folly walked with elastic step down the handsome 
street. 

The sky was as blue as a sky could be, and the 
maple trees along the sidewalk flamed against it in rich 
crimson and gold. The air was sunny and the fra- 
grance of falling leaves was upon it — not dead leaves 
yet. Folly walked miles over the pavements that after- 
noon as she made her round of formal ten -minute calls 
— checked ofl* in her calling book with admirable accu- 
racy and numbering nine at last — and she was not 
tired. 

The last call was upon a Miss Caxton, a very wealthy 
and beautiful girl who had been a society favorite be- 
fore Folly “came out,” and who still held her own. 
The two were effusively affectionate to one another and 
in their secret hearts disliked each other cordially. 

Across the street from Miss Caxton ’s home was a law 
office with the names “ Carter and Buel ” on the door. 
In this office two young men \vere lounging in arm- 
chairs, smoking. Apparently there was no stress of 
business. The office was elegantly finished in hard 
wood, and luxuriously furnished. There was an excel- 
lent and very new legal library in a handsome case, 
but the costly office desk was strewn with newspapers 
and novels of the very lightest sort. 

When Folly came within sight from the windows 
there was a sensation perceptible. The younger man, 


OVERTAKEN 


9 


Neil Carter, threw down his cigar, and leaning eagerly 
forward, watched her until she disappeared behind the 
heavy door of the Caxton mansion. 

‘‘Don’t be agitated, my boy,” said his companion, 
Jack Buel, who had shown less interest and had quickly 
relapsed into his comfortable position with his feet upon 
the desk. “ There’s plenty of time. Those girls hate 
each other so, that it takes them a little longer than 
usual to kiss and declare what devoted friends they are. ” 

‘ ‘ I tell you that Folly Rodnor is a mighty pretty 
girl,” said Carter, not noticing his companion’s remark, 
and beginning to walk up and down the room. 

He was a handsome fellow of six and twenty, or 
thereabouts. That he was accustomed to ease and 
elegance could be told by a certain languid gentlemanli- 
ness of manner ; but the refinement which might at one 
time have characterized him was now nearly lost in a 
hlase air of dissipation. He was so young that this 
manner had rather the appearance of affectation than 
that of effects of actual excess, but plainly he was, or 
aspired to be, a “ fast young man.” 

His companion, known as “Jack” Buel, was older 
than Neil, and evidently a shrewder and more able 
man. He had sharp gray eyes and a sarcastic turn of 
speech for whatever subject he touched. The partner- 
ship between the two young men was upon the basis of 
young Buel’s furnishing the brains, and Neil Carter 
the money. Buel had rather a contemptuous liking for 
Carter, who had certainly been extremely useful to him ; 
but knowing that he was no less important to Carter 


10 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


than Carter to him he treated him with the same sar- 
castic coolness which he show^ed to all his friends and 
acquaintances. Jack Buel had the reputation of heart- 
less cynicism in his own circle and rather enjoyed it. 

Celia Caxton is ten times handsomer/’ was the re- 
mark which he now vouchsafed to Neil’s exclamation. 

‘‘Well, sir,” retorted Neil, warming to the subject, 
“ she may be called handsome, but she doesn’t begin to 
have Folly Rodnor’s charm about her. She dresses 
magnificently and sits in graceful attitudes, makes the 
most of her shoulders, and smiles to just the becoming 
point, and she never says anything, and that is the end 
of her. But you take Folly, now, and she is a dozen 
different girls in half an hour. First she is saucy and 
the next thing you know as meek as you please ; now 
she’s gay and then she is half-sad ; another time you 
will find her so dignified and cold that you hardly dare 
to speak to her, and the next minute she will be saying 
all kinds of witty things and keeping a room full of 
people laughing ; and she changes through all these 
different moods, or whatever you choose to call them, so 
fast that it fairly takes a fellow’s breath away to keep 
up with her.” 

“ Oh, the girl has ability, my dear fellow,” responded 
Buel coolly. “I grant you that. She must have a 
good deal, I think, to make the ends meet and go into 
society as much as she does. You know Rodnor got to 
the very end of his property four or five years ago, be- 
fore he died, and what those two women live on is a 
mystery. ’ ’ 


OVERTAKEN 


11 


Why, he was insured of course, and Folly teaches. 
It’s a shame too ! ” was Carter’s reply. Evidently it 
did not please him to hear the Kodnors’ circumstances 
discussed. He had by this time put on his hat, and 
taking a fresh cigar sauntered out of the office without 
waiting to hear what Buel might have to say further. 

I just wish I knew whether that was her last call,” 
was his thought as he glanced at the uncommunicative 
windows of the house across the street. should 

think it must be, for it is five now,” and he consulted 
his watch as he walked leisurely down the street. 

He took his station in the reading room of a hotel 
which Folly would be sure to pass to enter the long 
avenue upon which she lived, and watched by a 
window. 

Fifteen minutes later Folly was on her homeward 
way and had turned up the avenue. It was a quiet 
street and at that time of day there were not many 
people walking there, so that she soon noticed a persist- 
ent footstep. It often happened that some one of 
Folly’s admirers walked up the avenue with her on her 
way home from shopping or calling and she felt almost 
certain that this quick -stepping person was trying to 
overtake her. She amused herself by increasing her 
own speed slightly, and when the unknown pursuer 
came abreast of her she was looking with much interest 
at the house she happened to be passing, so that Mr 
Carter had to speak to call her attention to himself. 


CHAPTER II 


NEIL carter’s conversational POWERS 

G ood-afternoon, Miss Foiiy,” said Neii 

Carter, taking off his hat deferentially. ‘ ‘ What 
a chase you have led me ! Do you always 
walk at this rate of speed ? ’ ’ 

“ Why, good -afternoon, Mr. Carter,” was the reply, 
in a voice of polite surprise. ‘‘ I didn’t know that you 
were enjoying the pleasures of the chase on my account. 
Of course I feel very much complimented.” This is 
the first time we have heard Folly speak, and w^e must 
confess there is a false, artificial ring in her words. 

Oh no, I am sure you didn’t, now ; you must know 
perfectly well that I would ride a steeple chase any 
time to walk half a block with you. Miss Folly.” 

‘‘Now, Mr. Carter ! I protest I will not have any 
more of those dreadful little speeches. You know I de- 
test them. Promise me, not another one to-night, or you 
sha’n’t walk with me,” facing around upon him with 
mock earnestness, which he evidently enjoyed immensely, 
as he replied by a flattered laugh : 

“ But you don’t understand the diificulty of avoiding 
them,” he began. “ I will do my best, but don’t look 
so terribly severe ; you frighten me, ’ ’ when she inter- 
rupted him with : 

12 


NEIL CAETER^S CONVERSATIONAL POWERS 13 


‘‘ When is Celia Caxton going to give that everlast- 
ing party she talks so much about? Of course you 
know, you always know everything.” 

Mr. Carter became serious at once. ‘‘Well, I sup- 
pose it will be early next month ; she likes to lead off, 
you know, and I expect we are going to have the gay- 
est kind of a winter.” 

“That’s good ; what makes you think so ? ” 

“ Oh, I can read the signs of the times, and besides, 
it’s our turn this winter. Last winter we never had a 
chance for our lives, — the dullest winter in six years.” 
“ Why, I had a lovely time,” said Folly demurely. 

“ Well, you’ll have a lovelier this winter. You see 
last year revivals were all the go ; everybody was going 
to church. Gracious ! if it had kept up much longer 
I should have fled the country. Of course they can’t 
have revivals every winter, and this year we are bound 
to have things lively.” 

“You shouldn’t talk so about revivals; it is real 
wicked of you.” 

‘ ‘ Why, what did I say that was wicked ? ’ ’ 

“You know perfectly well that you always make 

fun of such things ” 

“ Doesn’t everybody ? Don’t you ? ” 

“I hope not.” She spoke almost sharply. “I 
ought not to ; I am a church-member. ’ ’ 

“ Pshaw ! is that so ? I never supposed you were. 
You belong to Dr. Hale’s of course ? ” 

She nodded, adding, “And I teach a class in the 
mission school.” 


14 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


He laughed as if this were a capital joke. ‘‘ Why, 
now, isn’t that very good of you ! I had no idea you 
were such a devotee. I suppose you have a crowd of 
bootblacks there every Sunday. I declare I’ll go down 
there next Sunday and join the band ; see if I don’t ! ” 

‘‘You dreadful man ! You shall do no such thing. 
Promise me that you won’t, or I’ll never speak to you 
again. I wouldn’t have you there for anything.” 
There was a deep flush in Folly’s cheeks as she spoke. 

“ Oh, no, I am going,” rejoined Carter a little boister- 
ously. “ Where’s the lesson ? Moses in the bulrushes, 
or Joseph in the pit ? There, give me credit for know- 
ing so much.” 

‘ ‘ If that is all you know of the Bible I think you 
would better go to the Sunday-school. But I mean it. 
Unless you promise that you won’t come down there 
this, or any other Sunday, I will not speak to you again 
this winter,” and there was an expression in her face 
that showed Folly meant what she said. 

The young man presently replied: “Well, I’ll 
promise on just one condition.” 

“What is it?” 

“ That you promise me three dances at Celia Caxton’s 
party. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ An appropriate arrangement certainly — the two 
go well together. I don’t wonder it took your brain 
some time to produce such a brilliant idea,” was the 
reply with a touch of sarcasm which Folly could use. 
“ But I am willing to dance three times with you, if 
you choose to insist upon it, ’ ’ she continued coldly. 


NEIL CAETER’s conversational POWERS 15 


‘‘Now, don’t get on that tone, Miss Folly; you 
make me perfectly wretched. I suppose you consider 
that I’ve taken an unfair advantage of you.” 

Just at this moment a doctor’s carriage passed them, 
with two gentlemen in it. The one on the side nearest 
Folly and Mr. Carter was young and had a strong, seri- 
ous face. Both bowed. 

‘ ‘ ho was that with Doctor Griffith ? ’ ’ inquired 

Folly when the chaise had gone by. 

“Why, his son, the young doctor, you know. 
Haven’t you heard of him? He has just come back 
from Europe, and I suppose sets up to be something 
extraordinary. He’s the glummest chap I ever saw. 
I don’t see much in him. He won’t be in our set ; I’m 
positive of that.” 

“Poor thing, that’s hard on him. What makes 
you think so ? ” 

“ Oh, he isn’t a society kind of a chap. He was at 
Mrs. Lawton’s lawn party last month — I wonder you 
didn’t see him there — and he hadn’t the manners of a 
schoolboy. ’ ’ 

“I’m sure that’s in his favor.” 

“You know what I mean. He refused wine and he 
wouldn’t dance and he made a perfect guy of himself.” 

“ I hate that kind of man,” said Folly vehemently. 
‘ ‘ I suppose he thinks all society people are miserable 
sinners and himself a saint.’" 

“ Oh, of course.” 

“ I don’t see what he goes to parties for, if he won’t 
dance,” she continued, with evident annoyance. 


16 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


‘‘ He probably won’t any more. But who cares, any- 
way? Did you notice — of course you did — Nora 
Tracy’s dress that night at Mrs. Lawton’s? ” 

''Yes, wasn’t it lovely ? ” 

' ' I declare I never saw anything handsomer in my 
life in the way of duchess ! ” 

" What a queer fellow you are ! How did you know 
that it was duchess ? ’ ’ 

"I’d like to see the lace I can’t tell — or the imi- 
tation either,” was the reply with evident pride. 
"Now, that girl from Chicago had imitation lace on 
her fichu.” 

' ' I believe positively that you could describe every 
costume there that night. What did I wear ? ’ ’ 

" Do you think that I could forget what you wore. 
Folly?” and the voice and the look disturbed Folly 
with a sense, half of fear. It was the first time that 
Neil Carter had ever called her by her first name alone. 
It was a little thing, but if she let it pass it might mean 
much. Her color came and her lashes drooped, but 
she let it pass. 

They had reached her own door now and she was glad. 

" Will you come in ? ” she asked rather coldly. 

"I thank you, no. Good-evening,” and wdth a 
graceful bow and a parting glance of devoted admira- 
tion Neil Carter turned and walked down the street. 

Folly went up to her room, which was dusky in the 
twilight, and threw herself into a little low chair by a 
window from which she could see over the chimney tops 
the bright western sky. 


NEIL carter’s conversational POWERS 17 


Three years ago when I left school/’ she mused, 
with her cheek, which burned hotly, pressed against 
the cold pane, ^ ‘ I would not have believed that I should 
ever be the girl I am now. I used to care for reading 
then and study ; and 1 read good books, but now I 
never look into anything but novels. It is a perfect 
bore for me to try to read the books I used to be so 
enthusiastic over. And what is the use ? None of the 
other girls do, and society men never talk about any- 
thing of that kind. I had just joined the church then, 
and I really thought I meant something by it ; but how 
astonished Neil Carter was at the idea of my being a 
church -member. And no wonder ! What can I say to 
his talk about religious things ? What would it mean 
from me ? I drink wine ; I dance night after night 
until I am too tired or too excited to pray. I let such 
men as he look at me as he did to-night, knowing what 
he is and what it means. What if I should not have 
strength enough to draw back ? Oh, I can, I know I 
can. But how I should despise that man if he had not 
money and style, and how I despise myself for not de- 
spising him now ! What a strange look that Doctor 
Griffith had ! He looked surprised. Perhaps he knew 
who I was and that Neil Carter is awfully fast. He 
had no business to be surprised, anyway. I wish I had 
never heard of him.” 


B 


CHAPTER III 


THE SCHOOLROOM 

A MONTH later we look in upon Folly Rodnor 
again in her own home. The home is of moder- 
ate size and pretensions ; its furnishings have 
been elegant once, but are a little dull and faded now. 
There is, however, the evidence everywhere of a good 
degree of taste and cultivation in the indwellers. A 
large south room on the ground floor, formerly a bed- 
room, has been converted into a schoolroom for the 
accommodation of a dozen children from the neighbor- 
hood, whom Folly is supposed to teach from nine to 
twelve every morning. It is a confused scene ; the 
children are having it all their own way, for although 
it is half-past nine by the pretty little French clock on 
the chimney-piece, the teacher has not yet appeared. 
The children are pretty, daintily dressed little crea- 
tures, evidently belonging to wealthy homes. They 
are having a grand circus performance, with chairs for 
horses, racing in a circle around the room and raising 
such dust and noise as only children can. 

In the midst of this scene a door was opened and 
Folly appeared. She wore a simply made dress of 
dark -blue cloth with a white apron ; her hair was 
brushed smoothly back and twisted in a heavy, shining 
18 


THE SCHOOLROOM 


19 


coil. She was not quite so pretty as when we saw her 
before, for her eyes were heavy and her face a little 
pale. She smiled good-humoredly upon the hilarious 
children, who all rushed up to her, throwing their arms 
around her and begging for a kiss. 

‘‘You havenH kissed me. Miss Folly,’’ “You 
haven’t kissed me yet,” were the clamorous cries, and 
the confusion became yet more confounded. 

She kissed them all and took her seat at a table, at 
the same time ringing a little bell, which did not, how- 
ever, produce the instantaneous order which might be 
desired. 

“Come, children, you must really take your seats 
now. Harry, put your chair on its four legs and sit 
down in it. Ada, put away your dolly now. Just see, 
it is half-past nine already. Dear me, I didn’t think 
it was so late. I didn’t go to bed until two o’clock last 
night, and I have only just had my breakfast.” 

“Miss Folly, were you at Mrs. McLean’s party ? ” 
asked a little fairy -like girl with a mass of flaxen hair 
flowing over her shoulders, a very broad sash, and a 
very short white dress. She drawled her words and 
spoke with the consciousness of a much -petted child. 

“ Yes, Daisy, and I saw your mamma there.” 

“ Yes’m, she said it was a lovely party.” 

“Well, we must begin school now and talk about 
the party some other time,” saying which. Folly 
opened a little book and was about to call the children’s 
names, when the door was pushed open and a small 
boy, in a sailor suit, with a broad lace collar and red 


20 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


stockings, stamped, rather than walked, into the room. 
Before Folly had time to say good -morning, he called : 

Hello, Miss Folly ! ’’ His manner was loud and 
important as he proceeded to look for his chair and 
books. 

Good -morning. Tommy,” said Folly kindly. 
‘‘ Take off your hat, dear ; school has begun.” 

ain’t cornin’ to this school any more, I ain’t. 
AV here’s my slate. You’ve got it, Georgie AVarner, 
and that’s my primer.” 

‘ ‘ AYhy, Tommy, what do you mean ? ’ ’ asked Folly 
with ill -concealed anxiety. 

‘‘AVell, I ain’t. My mamma says there ain’t any 
use of my cornin’ here to fool away my time ; she’s 
goin’ to send me to a splendid school now. I guess 
most all the children ’round here’s goin’ there,” he 
went on with all a child’s heartlessness. 

It struck home. Folly’s face changed piteously ; it 
was white, and her lips trembled, but she bade Tommy 

good-bye ” with dignity and sweetness and proceeded 
with the order of school as if nothing had happened. 
But those morning hours dragged drearily ; her head 
ached with a fierce, throbbing pain, and there was a 
dull oppression in her heart. 

The bitterest thought was the justice of the act and 
words of the little pupil she had lost, cruel as they 
were, for Folly knew that the teaching which they re- 
ceived from her, exhausted, as she often was, with late 
hours and gayeties, interrupted with calls, her mind 
absorbed in other things, was of small value. She 


THE SCHOOLROOM 


21 


knew that the little school, which for a year had done 
essential service in piecing out their income, was on no 
firm foundation. The parents had been personal ac- 
quaintances of her own, who had sent their children to 
her in the first place because they felt a kindly interest 
in her, and the children all thought it ^ ‘ perfectly 
lovely ” to go to school to Miss Folly, who was so 
pretty and so stylish. But complaints reached her now 
and then, dropped, in random repetitions of their moth- 
er’s remarks, by the children, which made the young 
teacher feel that her hold upon them was weakening. 
Such hints would always ‘‘convey a melancholy into 
all her day,” giving her a vague sense of uneasiness 
and a resolution to give more time and thought to her 
teaching, which were soon forgotten together. This 
morning’s event was a serious catastrophe. The loss of 
the fee for Tommy’s tuition for the year, which had 
been fully counted on in the domestic economy, was 
in itself appalling, and then Folly knew well that 
Tommy’s desertion would have no slight effect upon the 
others, for children are fickle and easily drawn in the 
direction of anything new, and the fact of a “ splendid 
new school ’ ’ seemed almost a deathblow. 


CHAPTEK IV 


FLOWERS FOR FOLLY 

niHE morning was nearly gone when the maid brought 
X a card to Folly with the name ‘‘Mrs. Thomas 
McNaughton.” 

“ Tell Mrs. McNaughton I will be in immediately/’ 
said Folly, and went for her mother to come and amuse 
the children during her absence. This expedient was 
so often resorted to, that the children hardly knew 
whether they went to school to Folly or to Mrs. Rod- 
nor. That lady appeared now, — sad faced, white haired, 
gentle looking, — and Folly went to the parlor where, 
dressed in a superb calling costume of claret -colored 
silk and velvet sat Mrs. MclSTaughton, the young wife 
of a wealthy manufacturer. A pair of spirited horses 
and a handsome coupe stood before the door. 

All this magnificence seemed to have a blighting 
effect upon the little parlor. The old green furniture 
covering had never looked so dismally faded. Folly 
thought, the Brussels carpet so threadbare, the lace 
curtains so washed out ; and then the room was cold — 
for the sake of economy the heat was not turned on un- 
til the arrival of callers — and Folly was sure that her 
elegant visitor shivered. It seemed to the poor, short- 
sighted child that morning that it would be perfect 
22 


FLOWEES FOE FOLLY 


23 


happiness to change places with Mrs. Thomas McNaugh- 
ton, and know no more economizing and small worries 
to keep up appearances. But Folly had a genuine 
talent for keeping up appearances by her own manner. 
She fell at once into the gay society tone of her visitor, 
and passed the visit off bravely. 

‘ ‘ By the way, Miss Rodnor, I hear that you have a 
little school,” said Mrs. McNaughton, as the call was 
nearing a close. 

Yes, some of our neighbors’ little children come in 
and I teach them for a few hours, mornings. ’ ’ 

‘‘I suppose it is just what you want, to give you 
something to do. 1 know how it was before I was mar- 
ried. You must enjoy it ever so much.” 

Oh, I do, so much. Especially this morning,” 
in an unspoken, stage aside.”) They are just the 
cunningest little things you ever saw. I have such 
fun with them. They wanted me to do it, you know, 
and I thought I could just as well as not. Mornings 
don’t count much anyway, unless one keeps horses.” 

That is so. I always used to spend mine making 
up the sleep I had lost the night before. But now — 
dear me ! wait until you have a husband and a house 
and four servants on your hands ! ” and Mrs. Mc- 
Naughton sighed complacently. Then rising she con- 
tinued : ‘‘If I wasn’t in a hurry I should like to look 
in upon your little school ; I’ve no doubt I should be 
charmed. The little children think everything of you ; 
I’m sure it is very nice of you to be willing to be 
bothered with them.” 


24 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


always loved children/’ replied Folly half-me- 
chanically, and then, after a few formalities of leave- 
taking, Mrs. McNaughton entered her luxurious carriage 
and was driven off, with a sensation of gratitude in her 
heart that she did not have green rep -covered furniture 
in her parlor, and was not obliged to teach small chil- 
dren. For Folly might have spared herself the accusa- 
tion that she had given a false impression with regard 
to her teaching. If she had attempted to she had not 
succeeded. Mrs. McNaughton perfectly understood 
that Folly was obliged to w^ork for her living in some 
way ; it was simply good manners to gloss it over as 
being a matter of preference. 

Poor Folly w^ent back to the schoolroom with her 
rasped and worried feelings little soothed by this call. 
She knew as w^ell as her visitor that they w^ere simply 
nothing to one another ; that neither affection nor re- 
gard of any sort had led to this call, but the mere fact 
that the name ^‘Miss Kodnor” chanced to stand upon 
Mrs. McNaugh ton’s calling list and must accordingly 
be checked off once or twice a year. 

‘^Is the game worth the candle?” thought Folly 
wearily. She found the schoolroom vacant. Twelve 
o’clock had struck, and her mother had dismissed the 
children and was now in the dining room, seeing to it 
that Folly’s lunch w^as served to her mind. 

Folly sat down at the round table wdth its bright 
silver and handsome old china without a w^ord. Her 
mother saw that she hardly tasted her salad, and be- 
gan a little complainingly : 


FLOWERS FOR FOLLY 


25 


‘‘Now what is it, Florence ? Doesn’t the salad suit 
you ? I made the dressing myself/’ 

‘ ‘ Why yes, of course, mamma, it is very good, ’ ’ and 
then after a little pause : “ Did you know that Tommy 
Fletcher isn’t coming to school any more ? There’s a 
new school somewhere near here that he’s going to.” 
Folly’s voice was sharp, but she was tired of playing 
her part before so many spectators. The mask dropped 
now. 

Mrs. Rodnor made a quick, alarmed little movement 
as Folly spoke, but said nothing. 

Folly waited in cloudy silence for a while. Then 
she began : “Well, what of it? I don’t suppose we 
shall have to go into bankruptcy on that account, shall 
we? Why don’t you say something, mamma? Here 
I have been worrying myself nearly to death all the 
morning, and I thought you would have something 
cheerful to say.” Here the tears came, which were so 
rare an occurrence with Folly that Mrs. Rodnor was 
frightened . 

“My darling child ! ” she exclaimed with pathetic 
tenderness. “Don’t feel so ; I guess it will all come 
out right. Mother never disappointed you yet, did she, 
dear ? I will think of some way now to make this good 
again, never fear,” but her face was pale and she 
looked as if stricken with dread. 

‘ ‘ There is no use in talking as if I were a baby, 
mamma,” returned Folly who, it must be confessed, 
was not in an amiable mood. ‘ ‘ I suppose the fact is 
that the school money paid the rent before, and if it 


26 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


comes short we’ve got to go somewhere else to live, and 
give up everything I care about. Of course no one will 
come to see us when we live in some little, shabby by- 
street. Oh, dear me, there's the bell ! Mary,” to the 
maid who was passing through the hall to answer it, 
“ say I’m engaged, if it’s a caller. I can’t see any 
more Mrs. McNaughtons to-day,” she added bitterly. 

Mrs. Eodnor looked at Folly without a word, but a 
mother’s anguish of pity and love was in her tired eyes 
and Folly felt it remorsefully. 

” Mamma, dear,” she said, trying to smile, ‘‘I know 
I’m a horrid, ungrateful girl. I don’t see how you 

can ever get along with me ” 

At that moment Mary returned and handed Folly a 
large white box. The brightness came back to her 
eyes and the color to her cheeks as she untied the rib- 
bon w^hich fastened it and found within a white willow 
basket filled with exquisite flowers, gracefully and 
loosely arranged. An exclamation of delight broke 
from her lips as she lifted it carefully from the box, 
and placed it on the table. 

Oh, you sweet things ! Just see, mamma, there 
are camellias and jessamine, and look at those tea-rose 
buds — and here are orange blossoms, and heliotrope, 
and all the flowers I love best.” 

‘ ‘ Who could have sent it ? ” inquired her mother 
with much interest. See if there isn’t a card.” 

Yes, there is one in the box,” said Folly care- 
lessly ; ‘‘ but I don’t care much who sent them ; I have 
them. ’ ’ 


FLOWERS FOR FOLLY 


27 


And they are a comfort, aren’t they, Folly ? ” and 
her mother rose and took the card with a mother’s 
liberty from the box. ‘ ‘ Shall I look at the card, dear ? ’ ’ 

‘‘No, please let me see it first,” said Folly with a 
deeper flush in her cheek as she glanced at the card. 

“ They are from Neil Carter,” she exclaimed, but 
she slipped the card into her pocket. Above the name 
was written, “ Kemember your promise.” 

“ I had forgotten all about Celia Caxton’s party to- 
night, ’ ’ she continued thoughtfully, as her mother made 
no remark. 

“Oh, yes, that does come to-night,” returned Mrs. 
Eodnor. “You must go, dear. You can rest all the 
afternoon, and then you will feel more like going than 
you do now.” 

“But what can I wear? I certainly can’t wear 
perpetual ‘simple white muslin with a blue sash.’ 
That dress I wore last night is utterly ruined, and I 
shouldn’t wear it if it wasn’t.” Folly spoke like a 
spoiled child. 

‘ ‘ There is the blue satin your Aunt Emma sent, that 
you have never worn yet. ’ ’ 

“That’s so, but it will take too long to get it in 
shape for me to wear, I’m afraid.” 

‘ ‘ I guess not, ’ ’ said her mother cheerfully. ‘ ‘ If you 
have finished lunch we will go upstairs now and look it 
over. ’ ’ 


CHAPTEK V 


ROSES AND THORNS 

M OTHEK and daughter now went up to Mrs. Kod- 
nor’s room together, and the evening dress was 
brought out and laid on the bed for examination, 
and afterward tried on. It had belonged to a young 
aunt of Folly’s, a fashionable woman in New York, who 
frequently sent Folly articles of dress which she had 
laid aside after wearing a few times. 

The necessary alterations were decided upon, and they 
both sewed industriously until the late dinner hour, when 
the dress was pronounced ready to wear. 

After dinner Folly went to her own room to lie down 
for an hour. 

Mamma,” she said, as she started up the stairs, ‘‘ I 
suppose Neil Carter will come to take me to-night, but 
I sha’n’t begin to dress until eight anyway, I am so tired. 
But I wish you would call me then, if I am asleep, and 
do have the parlor warm ; it w^as freezing cold when 
Mrs. McNaughton was there this morning.” 

Well, dear, all right,” Mrs. Bodnor made cheerful 
reply, and then sat down at a desk in the back parlor, 
in the drawer of which she kept her important papers, 
and began the wearisome task of looking over her ac- 
counts — wearisome, indeed, when the only possible result 
28 


HOSES AND THORNS 


29 


is a ghastly and irreconcilable insufficiency of the in- 
come to meet the outgo. 

Mrs. Kodnor was a woman like many another, of in- 
tensely strong affection, and capable of performing any 
imaginable act of self-sacrifice for those she loved ex- 
cept that of disappointing them or denying them what 
they desired. There is weakness and even cowardice in 
such natures, and yet endless strength and courage in 
the endurance of personal trial and deprivation. It 
was inevitable that with such a mother. Folly had be- 
come a selfish and exacting girl, impatient of every an- 
noying obstacle and of troublesome anxieties. She was 
a girl of decided and even imperious character, and the 
carrying out of her desires always seemed to form the 
chief object in life to those immediately surrounding 
her, to her mother most of all. She had ruled and 
reigned in her own home all her life, again at school, and 
now the past year or two proved that she would do the 
same in society. But it was not by mere force of will 
or of selfishness that Folly ruled, there was a certain 
strength of character and an irresistible charm in the 
girl’s personality which made every one eager to please 
her. 

While Folly slept Mrs. Kodnor sat and pondered over 
her accounts until her head grew giddy and her eyes 
dim. If only she could give Folly what the girl 
wanted ! If only she could keep her light-hearted and 
happy like other girls of her age ! But how could it 
be done? Which way could they turn next? The 
clock struck eight and, relieved that she was obliged to 


30 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


lay aside these matters for a time, she closed the drawer 
and went slowly upstairs to her daughter’s room. 

Folly was lying asleep on the bed, her cheeks flushed, 
a half smile on her lips. The mother bending over 
kissed the rippling hair above her forehead ; her heart 
was comforted to see her child so peaceful. 

Folly awoke with her mother’s kiss, and the serious 
business of dressing w^as begun. Mrs. Rodnor always 
arranged Folly’s hair herself for state occasions, and it 
was pretty to see the quiet, white-haired mother care- 
fully brushing out the long, bright waves of hair, braid- 
ing and coiling them carefully about the graceful head, 
while Folly, who enjoyed this operation exceedingly, 
sat before the glass watching the progress of her toilet 
with brightening eyes. 

While they wTre thus engaged the sounds of wheels 
stopping before the house was heard and soon afterward 
the bell rang. 

“ There is Mr. Carter now,” said Folly coolly. 

Mary,” speaking in a low voice to the girl who had 
been an admiring spectator of the ceremony of dressing, 
being an old and trusted servant, tell him I will be 
down in half an hour certainly.” 

‘‘Why, Folly,” said her mother chidingly, “ that is 
a good while to keep him waiting. You can hurry a 
little after your hair is done.” 

“No, indeed, not for worlds,” said Folly, laugh- 
ing. “ It would spoil my looks entirely. Don’t you 
see my color is perfect now ? If I hurry I shall be too 
red. Besides, he is willing to wait.” 


ROSES AND THORNS 


31 


Punctually half an hour later the parlor door was 
opened, and to the bored and impatient Neil Carter 
entered a vision of grace and loveliness, at the sight of 
which he could not withhold an exclamation of surprise 
and delight. 

I thought I would show myself to you before Miss 
Caxton and the others put my little light out,^’ said 
Folly quietly, as she stood an instant before him. 

The mass of golden hair was arranged in a quaint 
knot upon the head, while little loose waves glinted and 
rippled around the low forehead and the fine, dark brows. 
Her eyes had never had a brighter light than was glow- 
ing in them that night. The dress of pale blue satin, 
fitting her lithe form perfectly, swept in a long, sinuous 
trail a third of the length of the little parlor ; the white 
throat rose from a mist of exquisite, creamy lace, — old 
lace it was of her mother’s — and half hidden in its 
light meshes nestled some pale pink rosebuds and a sprig 
of fragrant jessamine which Neil Carter flattered him- 
self he recognized. There was little now to suggest 
poverty or anxiety to either of them as, cutting off the 
elaborate compliments which the young man attempted 
to pour forth, she asked him to hand her the long white 
cloak which lay upon the sofa. He put it carefully 
over her shoulders and then followed her toward the 
outer door. 

Good-night, mamma,” she turned to say to Mrs. 
Rodnor, who was standing in the brightly lighted hall 
to see them off. There, I didn’t kiss you,” and run- 
ning back she kissed her affectionately. Don’t sit up 


32 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HEESELF 


for me, there’s a dear,” she called from the carriage to 
the motionless form in the doorway. 

Something in Mrs. Rodnor’s looks seemed to trouble 
her, for she said to Mr. Carter as they drove rapidly 
along, Don’t you think mamma looked ill to-night ? ” 


CHAPTER VI 


AT MIDNIGHT A CRY 

T he evening’s gayety had reached high-water mark 
in the Caxtons’ parlors. It was one of many like 
occasions which had preceded and would follow it : 
thrilling music, masses of flowers, a magnificent table 
laden with an endless profusion of dainties and plenty 
of wine, a hundred men and as many beautifully dressed 
women, advancing, receding, bowing, promenading, 
whirling unweariedly through dance after dance. 

Intellect, heart, soul — what part have they in all this? 
This is not their domain ; but what is it then ? Every 
sense is gratified ; it is a refined, nineteenth century 
revel of the senses, and truly it is brilliant to look upon. 

The dancing is in a great parlor set apart for the 
purpose on the second floor. Below, in the dining hall, 
supper has been served, but the merry sound of the band 
striking into the measures of a Strauss waltz called the 
last loiterer back half an hour ago. It is ‘‘a banquet 
hall deserted.” Across the hall the door stands open 
into a small library ; it seems dark after the rooms up- 
stairs, for the subdued light is lost upon the dark wal- 
nut bookcases and sober-tinted carpet. A man is stand- 
ing alone in this room, hat in hand, waiting. His 
grave face, as well as the heavy coat and the driving 
c 33 


34 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


gloves, lying upon the table against which he leans, show 
that he does not belong among those who make merry 
to-night. The music and murmur of gay voices and gay 
laughter come with a flood of brilliant light down the 
staircase which he is watching from where he stands. 

Presently a tall, graceful figure in pale blue drapery 
comes in sight on the landing above and descends the 
stairs with a fleet, noiseless step. It is Folly Kodnor. 
She pauses an instant irresolutely upon reaching the 
hall. The man who is waiting takes a step toward the 
door. She turns and they meet. 

‘‘ Miss Kodnor, I believe ; my name is Griffith,’’ and 
the stranger bows. 

There is a moment’s pause. Evidently he has diffi- 
culty in giving his errand. Folly has to speak. She is 
agitated and her dark eyes look searchingly into his 
face. 

Dr. Griffith, yes, I know,” she says at last. “They 
did not tell who it was that wished to see me. Is any- 
thing the matter with mother ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I have come to take you home ; she has had an at- 
tack of paralysis. I was called an hour ago. She will 
rally in time I think. There is no immediate danger.” 

A cry broke from Folly’s lips. “An hour — she 
dying, perhaps, and I here dancing ! Oh, help me to 
her ; I cannot think ! ” and she threw herself into a 
chair beside the table, and the bright, proud head hung 
low upon the extended arms. 

The servant, whom Folly had preceded down the 
stairs, was in the hall. The doctor went to him and in 


Is anything the matter with mother? 


P 

CK! 

CD 

CO 






'MM 






:-;s-wwSS; 














AT MIDNIGHT A CKY 


35 


a low voice told him to bring Miss Eodnor’s cloak, ‘‘and 
say nothing about it until she is gone. She cannot see 
any one now, her mother is very ill.’’ 

In a moment more the cloak was quietly brought, and 
with a message of excuse to her hostess and to Neil 
Carter, Folly followed Dr. Griffith out into the dark 
night. 

It was wild and stormy ; a furious wind with a driv- 
ing snowstorm had gathered since Folly drove with her 
other escort to Mr. Caxton’s ; but the music had been 
louder than the wind, and the splendor and w^armth 
within doors made biting storms and bitter blasts seem 
things of another world. Folly did not notice it at the 
time, but afterward she remembered that the doctor 
came in a closed carriage intead of in his own. She found 
her heavy blanket shawl on the seat, and her first 
thought as she wrapped it around her shivering form 
(shivering with excitement, for she did not feel the cold) 
was, “ Mother sent it,” and then the thought that per- 
haps the mother love was lost to her, the mother heart 
dead to her forever, came with crushing agony, and 
she sobbed low under her breath. 

Doctor Griffith sat beside her and said no word until 
they were near home. Then he said in a low, comfort- 
ing voice : 

“ Now, Miss Eodnor, for your mother’s sake I must 
ask you to be very quiet. Use all the self-control you 
can command ; it is necessary, for there is much you can 
do, if you are calm, which you would be sorry to give 
up to others. You must, of course, face the thought of 


36 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


the worst, but I would advise you to cling fast to the 
hope of recovery, for I tell you honestly there is 
hope. Pray for your mother and for strength for your- 
self. There is one Friend who can be with you now, who 
is able to sustain and uphold.’’ 

Folly’s sobs were hushed and her trembling hand 
clung to his as he took it, as if she gained strength by 
the clasp. She said nothing in reply ; she was rallying 
all her forces to meet the trial, for they were now draw- 
ing up before her own door. 

There was light in the windows, upstairs and down, 
but all was still when she opened the door and entered 
the hall where she had kissed her mother good-night a 
few hours before. Doctor Griffith came in with her, 
and telling her to wait a moment, went up himself to 
her mother’s room. 

Folly crouched upon the lowest stair, listening, every 
nerve in her stretched to the utmost tension. The blue 
satin drapery was crushed beneath her ; her flowers were 
bruised and faded upon her bosom ; her face was white 
and drawn ; her eyes had suddenly grown hollow and 
larger, the whole agonized soul of the girl was in them 
and their look was heartrending. It was only a moment 
before she heard a step, and Mrs. Preston, their next- 
door neighbor, came down to her. She was a kind, 
tender-hearted woman, and it comforted Folly to know 
that she was there. 

‘ ‘ Tell me first all about it, ’ ’ she whispered hoarsely 
as Mrs. Preston sat down on the stair by her side and 
smoothed her hair back with a pitying, motherly motion. 


AT MIDNIGHT A CKY 


37 


‘‘It was between eleven and twelve, my dear, that 
the maid came and called me. She had been on her 
way to bed and went into the room to say a word to your 
mother, and found her sitting by the desk with her head 
sunk upon it. The drawer was open and some papers 
lay there. Mary found she was living, but quite sense- 
less, and she ran as quickly as she could and called me. 
Mr. Preston came with me and went. for the doctor as 
soon as we got your mother into bed. He had to go 
back then to see Willie, who has got the croup again, 
and so the doctor offered to go and get you. Old Doc- 
tor Griffith was out of town, and James told the young 
man to come, for we needed some one at once. Now 
if you feel able you may go and see your mother, my 
dear, but there is no call for you to do anything. She 
does not notice anything, and there is not much any of 
us can do but wait. I think she will come out of this all 
right ; there are so many that do. You mustn’t give 
up so.” 


CHAPTER VII 


REALITIES 

F olly went in then and knelt by the bedside, press- 
ing her cheek against the unconscious hand which 
was still the dearest on earth to her. How awful 
it seemed to look at that familiar face, not greatly 
changed, and meet no responding look of love. She 
had never looked in vain before, dear child. Did that 
gray, stony look mean death — the end ? She was near 
forgetting all they had told her and wailing aloud, but 
at that moment Doctor Griffith put his hand upon her 
shoulder, and motioned for her to go with him into the 
hall. 

‘‘ You are going to be entirely unnerved and broken 
down, I am afraid,’’ he said, and his voice was almost 
severe. ‘‘ I want you to go to your own room and get 
rid of all this,” shaking his hand impatiently at the 
trailing dress. Now listen, and do exactly as I say. 
First, take this powder ; it will steady your nerves. 
Then bathe your head in cold water, and twist your 
hair up as simply as you know how ; put on a dress that 
won’t rustle, — a light wrapper if you have one, — and 
then come in here and take care of your mother, and 
let Mrs. Preston go home. I shall stay for the pres- 
ent.” 


38 


REALITIES 


39 


Folly looked up at him wonderingly, but it gave her 
a great sense of relief to be told exactly Avhat to do, 
like a child. With all the incongruity of her own at- 
tire, the strange, dreamlike suddenness and unnatural- 
ness of everything which had happened, she had 
been overwrought to an almost delirious excitement. 
The perception that there were simple, familiar duties 
devolving upon her seemed to cool and steady her in- 
stantly. 

In a few minutes she returned in a dark, cashmere 
house dress, with her hair brushed smoothly back. 
Her movements were quiet and her voice firm as she 
persuaded Mrs. Preston to go home to her sick child, 
and then took her seat beside her mother. 

There was medicine to be given and applications to 
be made, and under the doctor’s directions Folly showed 
herself a quick-witted and deft-handed nurse. As soon 
as she had learned all that was to be done he left her and 
went downstairs to take a few hours’ rest on the sofa. 

In those long hours between three o’clock and day- 
light Folly was alone with her mother in the hushed 
and faintly lighted room. Her thoughts went flying to 
and fro over little events here and there in the weeks 
and months of the past. That very day how harshly 
she had spoken, and how selfishly, to the one who could 
no longer hear her speak. A few weeks before she had 
broached the project of giving a little party herself, 
and had thought her mother unreasonable because she 
had said it was an impossibility in their circumstances. 
How unkindly she had spoken ! She remembered now 


40 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


the sadness in her mother’s face. How little she had 
ever herself shared in the planning of their necessary 
economies ; it had seemed so natural to let her mother 
carry all that alone. How seldom she had failed, 
though, of having all that she asked. She always felt 
that ‘‘mother could manage some way.” But she had 
known how her mother had worried over their house- 
hold expenses, and with what tremor she always looked 
at the monthly bills to see if they were larger than she 
had calculated. No wonder that she was finally smitten 
down as she bent with troubled heart and brain over 
those weary accounts. If she could only have one 
chance more, how she would live and work for that 
mother ! No more hard words and selfish wishes should 
grieve her ; she would carry all the burdens herself* and 
her own precious mother should not have a care or 
anxiety. 

When the day dawned there was a change in Mrs. 
Kodnor ; her lips moved and her eyes opened. The doc- 
tor stood at the foot of the bed and smiled gravely in 
answer to Folly’s quick look of inquiry. But hope did 
not come with a wild rush as anguish had done. Only 
gradually, as they compared day with day, could they 
feel sure that she was gaining ground. 

For two weeks, besides the doctor. Folly saw no ona 
but Mrs. Preston and a few intimate friends who helped 
in the care of her mother. There were dozens of cards 
left at- the door, beautiful flowers were sent every day, 
and Folly was glad to be remembered. Still she experi- 
enced that perception, always chilling, but inevitable 


EEALITIES 


41 


sooner or later, how few friends, after all, any human 
being has to whom to turn for sympathy and help in 
real trouble, and how the gay world goes on with its 
unchanging round despite the suffering of a stricken 
heart here and there. 


CHAPTER VIII 


DOCTOR GRIFFITH 

A FORTNIGHT after the night of Miss Caxton^s 
party Mrs. Rodnor was so far convalescent as to 
sit up and even to walk about her room a little. 
Doctor Griffith told Folly that her mother would be 
feeble for a long time, and must be kept from every 
physical or mental strain, as there was great danger of 
another attack. If all conditions, however, were favor- 
able, there was every reason to hope that she would live 
many years yet. They were standing at the foot of the 
stairs when he said this to Folly. She had come to the 
door with him. He opened it now, and as she glanced 
out he noticed the wistful look in her eye, and saw 
how pale and thin she had grown. 

This nursing has been hard for you,” he said, with 
a quiet sympathy peculiar to him. ‘‘You have not 
been out of the house in two weeks. I have to drive 
into the country a mile or two now, to see a patient, and 
I wish you would wrap yourself warmly and take the 
drive with me. It is what you need.” 

Folly’s eyes grew bright. She looked out at the 
glittering snow and the sunny air. 

“Oh, if I only could!” she exclaimed. “But 
ought I to leave mamma ? ’ ’ 

42 


DOCTOK GRIFFITH 


43 


“ Yes, or I should not ask you.’^ 

She did not keep him waiting long, but after bidding 
Mary stay with her mother, and wrapping herself in a 
riding cloak and furs, she was ready and went out to the 
sleigh where Doctor Griffith stood waiting for her. 

She looked so childishly happy that he smiled at the 
sight of her face. He made her very comfortable with 
a heavy fox-skin robe, and then they skimmed away 
over the hard-packed snow, with a glittering blue sky 
overhead, and a frosty wind to bring the bright color 
back to Folly’s cheeks. 

At first the new sensation of the cold, free air, the 
snow, the motion, were so strange to Folly, housed as 
she had been so long, that she had enough to do to look 
around her, and Doctor Griffith seemed satisfied to let 
her enjoy the ride without talking. Before very long, 
however, she turned toward him and said : 

I am very happy to-day. Doctor Griffith.” 

You have reason to be, Miss Eodnor,” was the 
doctor’s reply. 

“It is such an endless joy that I have my mother 
back again ; and I know,” she added a little timidly, 
“ that it is to you I owe this.” 

“ I think you are in error ; I did what I could, but 
it was not a case where medical skill made much differ- 
ence. There was little to be done but to watch and 
wait.” 

“I cannot bear to think of that night,” she said in 
a low voice, half trembling as the memory of it began 
to assert itself. 


44 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


‘‘I beg that you will not think of it now,’^ returned 
her companion. ‘‘ Think of what you will do, now that 
your mother is getting better.” 

A shade passed over Folly’s face. You cannot im- 
agine, Doctor Griffith, ’ ’ she said soberly, ‘ ‘ how strange 
it is to me to look forward and see that I must take on 
thought and care and responsibility concerning things 
that I have never been used to know about. It 
troubles me dreadfully. I don’t know what to do when 
I can’t go to mother with every little thing.” 

‘‘You will have to keep troublesome matters from 
her now, diligently. But don’t be discouraged. Wait 
till the things come. You will find yourself equal to 
them all I think. I have the impression that you are a 
person of excellent sense, after all.” 

“ What a funny, funny thing to say to a young lady ! 
And ‘ after all.’ Why shouldn’t I have sense ? That 
is the oddest compliment I ever had in my life,” and 
Folly laughed merrily. 

Doctor Griffith laughed too, and Folly found herself 
wondering that she should be having a merry sleigh -ride 
with the stranger who had passed her and Neil Carter 
on the avenue that October afternoon less than tw^o 
months ago. With this thought came a recollection of 
what Neil had said of him, that he did not dance, did 
not take wine, etc., and she remembered how it had an- 
noyed her at the time. “That is why he said, ‘ after 
all,’ ” she thought ; “he did not think a girl who went 
into society as I do, and received attentions from Neil 
Carter, could have much sense.” These reflections kept 


DOCTOR GRIFFITH 


45 


her sober and still for a few moments. Presently she 
found that the doctor’s gray eyes were resting upon her 
face, and then he asked: ‘‘Well, what next?” and 
his thought was that he would like to keep a record of 
the changes of Folly’s face in a single half-hour. 

‘ ‘ Do you think that people who dance are very bad ? ’ ’ 
she asked, looking earnestly at him now. 

Wondering what could have led her to this sudden 
and inconsequent question he paused before replying : 
‘ ‘ That is a difficult question to answer. Miss Kodnor. 
If you mean to ask me if I think all people who dance 
very bad solely for the reason that they dance, I should, 
of course, tell you, no. But perhaps this is a question 
concerning the universal depravity of the race ; all are 
evil, hence all that dance are evil. In that case I must 
say, yes ; must I not ? But if you mean to ask my 
opinion of dancing as an occupation, that is still another 
thing.” 

‘ ‘ I believe it is the dancing and not the people I 
mean,” said Folly. 

‘ ‘ Why do you ask this question ? Do you really 
want me to answer it ? ” 

“Why, certainly.” 

“ It is not pleasant to me to express my opinion, be- 
cause I know that you dance, and I do not feel at liberty 
to take upon myself the office of critic of your conduct 
in any way. But since you ask me, I have to tell you 
plainly that I do consider dancing, as an occupation 
habitually practised, unworthy of any intelligent Chris- 
tian man or woman.” 


46 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


“ Why? asked Folly quickly. 

‘ ‘ Because it is not good as physical exercise ; it is not 
healthful, honest sport ; no faculty of the intellect is ex- 
ercised by it, and it leads to no advance in Christian 
life or thought, and offers no opportunity for lifting up 
any human being. These are negative objections and 
there are many positive ones. Physically, much harm 
is done by the late hours and heated, dust -laden air 
almost invariably attending, and the injury wrought 
upon the moral nature in many cases is appalling. 
These objections are real, I am confident, and unde- 
niable. Now, what is there to recommend it? ’’ 

‘‘Oh, but it is so pretty. Doctor Griffith ! The music 
you know is perfectly lovely, and there is such a fasci- 
nation about it ! ” 

“Ah? I see ! This was said with a grave irony 
which piqued Folly greatly. He evidently dropped the 
question right there. She felt the absurdity of her at- 
tempted defense at once, and was trying to find some 
more adequate one, when Doctor Griffith stopped his 
horse before a large farmhouse, for they were in the 
country now. 

‘ ‘ I shall keep you waiting only a few moments, ’ ’ he 
said. “Will you take the reins ? ’’ 


CHAPTER IX 


FIRST LESSONS IN SCHOOL TEACHING 

A S she sat in the sleigh, waiting for Doctor Griffith 
to return, Folly felt more strongly than before 
the difference between him and the society men 
with whom she was accustomed to associate. Their 
interests were mainly centered upon trivialities, upon 
fashion, upon parties, upon themselves in and through 
everything ; but here was a man, not older than many 
of her ‘ ‘ set ’ ’ and possessed of a dignity and grace of 
bearing superior to any of them, whose interests were 
in others, not in himself pre-eminently, a man who 
dealt with life and death, and looked upon both as 
solemn things, who had a broad and trained mind, a 
man wdio ‘ ‘ saw things largely and Avho saw them 
whole.” 

She had met him daily for two w^eeks now, and her 
admiration for him had grown, and her trust in him ; 
but looking at him now as he appeared in the farm- 
house door and bowed his formal ‘‘ good -afternoon ” to 
the lady who accompanied him. Folly confessed to her- 
self that she was, withal, a little afraid of him.” 

He was quite grave when he rejoined her, and the 
ride back. Folly thought, bade fair to be a silent one. 
She imagined that he had found his patient worse and 

47 


48 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


was troubled about him, and she did not like to break 
in upon his evident preoccupation to ask a question. 
But before long he remarked, as if they had been talk- 
ing on the subject : 

‘‘Yes, you will find it difficult to come back to the 
daily routine after all the suspense and excitement of 
the last two weeks. You must expect a tedious time of 
reaction. It is inevitable with your temperament.’’ 

“I dread it myself,” returned Folly, “and what 
you say reminds me of a matter about which I wanted 
to ask you. I had a little neighborhood school in the 
house before mother was taken ill, and I do not know 
whether I ought to resume it. I have feared that the 
noise and confusion of the children might be bad for 
mother. But if not, I ought to begin teaching again 
as soon as I can. What do you think about it? ” 

“It would not be best just yet ; but in a week or 
two more I expect your mother to be so well th^t there 
will be nothing to fear from any such cause. I did not 
know. Miss Bodnor, that you taught,” he continued 
with cordial interest. Folly felt that he looked upon 
her with more approval than before. 

“I do, but I don’t like to,” she confessed, bound 
not to gain a good opinion which she did not deserve. 
“ I don’t believe I’m a bit of a good teacher.” 

“You ought to be,” he returned. “ I should think 
you would have an excellent gift for teaching children. ’ ’ 
“ Oh, yes, of course,” said Folly naively, “ every one 
thinks that, because I am jolly with children, as com- 
pany, don’t you know? and can tell them fairy stories. 


FIRST LESSONS IN SCHOOL TEACHING 49 


and all that kind of thing. I do love children too, 
when they behave nicely, but oh, I most awfully hate 
‘First Lessons in Numbers,’ and that ‘First Keader ’ ! 
The sight of them positively makes me ill. Did you 
ever feel so about anything. Doctor Griffith ? ’ ’ looking 
up at him with mock seriousness. 

She saw a merry twinkle in his eye, and he replied : 
“ I should suppose you would have enough originality 
to transform the ‘ First Reader ’ into a very captivating 
affair. Why don’t you put one together for your own 
use out of Cinderella, and Pegasus, and all those pretty 
stories ? ’ ’ 

“Just like a man,” thought Folly ; “jumping away 
over all the practical steps to a very brilliant impossi- 
bility,” but she did not quite venture to say this. 

“ It would be a good idea, wouldn’t it?” she said 
instead, and continued : “But seriously. Doctor Griffith, 
it is a very difficult thing to teach children, a very try- 
ing thing to patience and good temper. I believe I am 
naturally good-tempered ; people have been in the way 
of assuring me that such was the case ; but I find I do 
get cross nearly every day, at heart, and think I do well 
if I am civil enough to keep it to myself.” 

“ I do not think a man would be capable of teaching 
children,” returned Doctor Griffith. “It must take all 
a woman’s tact and sympathy, as well as her patience. 
I suppose you know those lines of Coleridge’s ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ About teaching ? No, ” said Folly. 

‘ ‘ They begin like this : 


D 


50 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


“O’er wayward children wouldst thou hold firm rule, 
And sun thee in the light of happy faces ? 

Love, hope, and patience — these must be the graces. 
And in thy own heart must they first keep school.” 

Folly was silent thinking how small an influence 
thoughts like these had had in her teaching. And yet, 
she was sure the children loved her. They soon reached 
home. Folly felt bright and strong and entertained her 
mother with a laughing account of how the doctor had 
thought she had common sense after all.’’ 

That evening Neil Carter called, and Folly saw him 
for the first time since her mother’s illness. 


CHAPTER X 


AN INVENTORY 

N early two weeks Imd passed since the afternoon 
when Folly drove out with Doctor Griffith. Dur- 
ing this time Mrs. Rodnor had been gaining fast 
in strength, and much of the old life had come back to 
Folly. She had not yet left her mother for social en- 
gagements, but as soon as it was known that she could 
receive them, callers came every pleasant day, for Folly 
was too great a favorite in society not to be missed by 
all her acquaintances. 

Thursday afternoon happened to be stormy, and no 
callers were expected. Mrs. Rodnor had come down- 
stairs for the first time, and was sitting by the open- 
grate fire in a comfortable easy -chair. 

Folly came in bringing a plate of tempting hot-house 
grapes, which she placed on the table near her mother. 

‘‘There, Mamma Rodnor,’’ she said gayly, “isn’t 
that a pretty dish to set before a queen ? Mr. Carter 
sent them to you, and there is a great box full of 
others, just like them. Nice boy, isn’t he? ” and she 
set her pretty head on one side and looked down at 
her mother with a world of mischief in her brown eyes. 

“ Yes, dear, Mr. Carter seems to be a very well-dis- 
posed young man. I have heard in past times ” 


51 


52 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


‘ ‘ Bless your heart ! Of course you have, and so has 
everybody else, ’ ’ interrupted Folly. ‘ ^ But no matter 
for that. We will eat his grapes all the same, won’t 
we ? ” and taking some herself. Folly curled up in a 
corner of a sofa and proceeded to eat them with great 
relish, her mother watching her the while with fond 
eyes. 

‘‘Now, mamma,” she began, when the grapes w^ere 
eaten, “you know I am the financial manager of this 
establishment at present, and I am about to take 
account of stock. Isn’t that what they do about this 
time of year? You’re not to give yourself one bit of 
worry or bother about it, but just tell me slowly the 
state of things, because I must be chancellor of the ex- 
chequer for a good while yet. Please don’t look 
frightened, for I know I can make everything come out 
beautifully. I feel wonderfully capable, now that I am 
sure of having sense. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Bodnor sighed. “Well, my dear, I suppose 
we ought to talk these things over, so that you may 
understand just the position we are in. The doctor 
told me that I must give up responsibility as far as 
possible. I would like it if I could keep it all from 
you. Folly, as I have always done. You are so young 
and inexperienced, and I know it will frighten you.” 

Folly had by this time armed herself with paper and 
pencil, and taken her seat at the table with a very 
business-like air. 

“ There ! ” she said with great satisfaction, “ I have 
written creditor on this side of the paper and debtor on 


AN INVENTORY 


53 


the other, and first I am going to put down all the 
money that comes in to us from every quarter here ; 
and then on the other side all that we have to pay 
out.’’ 

Mrs. Kodnor smiled sadly, but said nothing. 

‘‘Now, Mrs. Rodnor,” continued Folly briskly, “I 
must ask you to confine yourself to ‘ facts and figures, ’ 
as the man says in ‘ Hard Times.’ ‘ Facts and figures,’ 
madam, is all we want. First on the creditor side,” 
and she held her pencil poised, waiting. 

“When your father died,” Mrs. Rodnor began 
slowly, “we lived as you know, on Graham Avenue, 
in a very different house and style from this, and sup- 
posed that we were in very easy circumstances. But 
when the estate was settled it w^as found that there was 
nothing left for us but his life insurance. I had six 
thousand dollars of my own from Aunt Maria which I 
was allowed to keep, and there was a little hope that 
something might come from an investment which your 
father had made in the West, but nothing ever has yet. 
We took this house at a rent of five hundred dollars a 
year because you know we both thought we could not 
live in any of the other houses that were spoken of at 
the time. The income from the insurance is six hun- 
dred dollars a year, and that first year we did not go 
out at all, and so our expenses were much less than 
they have been since. Besides, that year your Uncle 
Frank gave me a generous present of money. Still I 
was obliged, of course, to take a little from the six 
thousand. I suppose that I ought not to have en- 


54 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


croached upon my principal, — that is what people 
always say, — but I was not accustomed to managing 
for myself, and it seemed the only way. The next year 
it was the same, only that we had no help from others. 
The year after that you came out in society, and of 
course our expenses were very much increased, and the 
money went so fast that I was frightened. And so a 
year ago you opened the school which has done very 
well, nearly covering the rent. But this fall I found 
that I had taken from my principal until it was re- 
duced one -half. I saw that at that rate it would soon 
be exhausted entirely, and so I have tried in every way 
to lessen our expenses, to make them come within the 
thirteen or fourteen hundred dollars of our proper in- 
come, but I cannot do it.’’ 

Folly’s head was bent over her paper, upon which 
she was writing the few figures representing their in- 
come. She could not trust her voice to speak cheer- 
fully, and so made no comment. 

I will give you the items of expense, dear, now, if 
you like,” continued her mother gently. 

Folly nodded assent, and Mrs. Kodnor proceeded to 
name over the various matters of food, clothing, serv- 
ice, etc., with the amount of money necessary to cover 
each. There was a pause while Folly anxiously reck- 
oned up the little account. 

‘‘Sixteen hundred dollars, is it not? I have been 
over it enough times, ’ ’ and Mrs. Rodnor leaned wearily 
back in her chair. 

“Yes, a little more than that, — sixteen hundred 


AN INVENTORY 


55 


and fifty dollars I make it,” said Folly, trying hard to 
speak in a hopeful tone. She added, after a little: 

Well, I don’t think we are extravagant in any way, 
unless in my clothing and carriage hire, and I mean to try 
to economize a great deal this year in those ways. I shall 
open school again next week, and I am going to devote 
myself to teaching now, and I really think I can make 
a success of my school if I put my mind upon it. You 
know the children always seem to enjoy coming. But, 
mamma, haven’t I a little money of my own that father 
gave me when I was ten years old ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, dear, he put a thousand dollars in the bank 
for you then and it has been at interest ever since. But 
that is not to be touched,” said Mrs. Rodnor, with all 
the energy her weak voice could express. 

Folly had never cared before to inquire into the sub- 
ject of their resources and expenses, and it was both 
mortifying and appalling to her to find how straitened 
their circumstances were. She felt that her mother had 
made a grave mistake in letting their affairs run along 
as they had, and yet she could not blame one who never 
exacted anything for herself, and all whose fault was 
the weakness of her love for her child. And how 
could any radical change in the state of their affairs 
be made ? 

Caught fast in the tangle of fashionable life. Folly 
felt it impossible to draw back now ; she was fascinated 
with the glamor of it, with attention and admiration, 
with petty triumphs and rivalries ; she could not give 
it up, nor could she see how it was to be sustained. 


56 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


Still she fell back upon the thought of working up the 
school and realizing more from that, and so, veiling 
with a vain hope the actual danger which was confront- 
ing them, she partially regained her cheerfulness, and 
convinced her mother that she, at least, was full of 
faith in a better future. 


CHAPTER XI 


A WAY OUT 

T he next afternoon Folly set apart to visiting the 
ladies whose children had formerly been her schol- 
ars, and informing them that the school would 
be opened on Monday. 

To her dismay the first lady upon whom she called 
told her that her little girl had been entered at another 
school ; she was sorry, but she had not supposed that 
Miss Rodnor would teach again, since her mother was 
so feeble. She hoped it would not make any particular 
difference, noticing Folly’s downcast face ; she supposed 
Miss Rodnor only taught the children as a matter of 
accommodation. This new school was in the neighbor- 
hood, and was taught by two ladies of great ability and 
experience, and promised to be very successful. 

Folly came away heartsick with anxious dread, and 
still with some hope for better prospects elsewhere. But 
it was the same at the next place where she called, and 
with but little variation she met with the same reception 
wherever she went. Of all her little flock not one was 
left to her, although not all were withdrawn for the 
same cause. One mother frankly told her that she 
should not send her little son to her again, because she 
did not think he learned anything. This hurt cruelly, 

57 


58 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


coming with all the rest, and when Folly reached home 
she was so agitated and overcome that she did not dare 
to go into the room where her mother was sitting alone 
in the twilight. 

‘‘What shall I do ? What shall I do?’’ was her 
mental cry, as she threw herself upon the bed in her own 
room in a passion of tears : “ How can I tell mother? 
and yet she will have to know it. Oh, it is hard for me 
to have all this trouble to bear alone. I never can be 
young and happy and like other girls again. I may as 
well make up my mind to be wretched as long as I live. ’ ’ 

Thus thought poor Folly in her discouragement and 
hopelessness. Selfish and childish her emotion was ; but 
what else could be looked for in a spoiled and petted 
child who had never faced hardships before, and who 
had never learned to cast her care upon the One who 
careth for his children ? 

No ray of that divine comfort entered Folly’s heart, 
which comes with the knowledge that he is near and 
knows all, and sends all because he loves us and knows 
what is best. Her religious profession had been but an 
empty and outward thing. She looked forward only to 
fighting her trouble out alone, and to bearing it out with 
cold composure in the presence of others. 

Half an hour passed, and Folly heard her mother’s 
slow step in the hall below and her voice calling, 
“Florence.” 

Then she realized that it was cruelty to leave her 
mother to imagine what she might in suspense, and so 
with a certain fortitude and determination which the 


A WAY OUT 


59 


past weeks had developed in her, Folly made herself 
ready and went down to dinner. At the table, in reply 
to her mother’s questions. Folly told her what had hap- 
pened, but she succeeded in controlling her voice and 
manner so as not to betray her own hopelessness. 

Something will turn up yet, mother ; don’t be dis- 
couraged.” Her voice did falter a little then, and her 
mother’s quick eyes saw the pretty chin quiver in the 
old childish way. Then the mother knew it all ; there 
was no need that Folly should say : ‘ ‘ I am perfectly 
wretched and heartbroken.” 

But Mrs. Kodnor made very little comment. She 
knew that Folly was not ready yet to be comforted, and 
in truth she knew not wherewith to comfort her. When 
dinner was ended they both went upstairs. Folly telling 
Mary, if callers came, to say she was engaged. She 
could positively see no one. 

They went into Mrs. Bodnor’s room, and Folly sat 
by a table with a novel open before her, trying to read, 
while her mother lay on a couch with closed eyes, appar- 
ently asleep. The bell rang several times, and each 
time the caller turned away disappointed as Mary an- 
nounced that Miss Rodnor was not well and could not 
see any one. 

It was after nine o’clock, too late Folly thought for 
any more callers, when the bell rang again, and after a 
little she heard Mary coming upstairs. Folly looked 
up surprised. The girl handed her Neil Carter’s card 
on which he had hastily penciled : ‘ ‘ Do let me see you 
a moment.” 


60 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


Folly hesitated an instant, and then with the weary, 
hopeless expression unchanged in her face, went slowly 
down to the parlor. 

Neil Carter stood leaning against the mantelpiece. 
He came toward her, but was surprised and silenced by 
her pale, unsmiling face. 

Why did you do so ? she asked wearily. ‘‘ I did 
not want to see any one to-night, I cannot talk about 
the things you want me to. Why did you insist on 
seeing me ? ’ ’ 

They both stood ; she did not ask him to be seated. 

‘ ‘ Shall I tell you why ? ’ ’ asked the young man, and 
what manhood there was in him asserted itself, for, as 
far as he could love, he did love Florence Rodnor. 
‘ ‘ Do you want me to tell you now ? ’ * He saw that 
she trembled, but she said no word, and taking her hand 
he went on : 

^ ‘ Because I want the right to help you when you are 
troubled. I want you to promise to be my wife. You must 
know that I have meant this all along ; you cannot say 
that you have not,” and there was something in his 
tone that frightened Folly, and made her realize that 
playing with a man’s heart is dangerous amusement. 

‘‘Yes, I have known,” she said, her lips white, her 
eyes drooping. 

“Then you cannot turn me away now. Folly, can 
you ? ’ ’ He spoke more gently, more pleadingly, and 
the tenderness overcame her. 

She burst into tears. “ Oh, Neil, if you care about 
me you may take me. I am so unhappy ! ” 


A WAY OUT 


61 


And almost without her own will or reason, Folly 
Kodnor was pledged to Neil Carter to be his wife, with 
that promise which a woman makes but once in her life 
with a perfect heart. 

The next morning after breakfast Mrs. Kodnor sat in 
the back parlor with the daily paper unread in her lap 
and a troubled face. Folly was moving restlessly about. 

‘‘Well, Folly,” said her mother after a while, “ what 
is to be done? We must consider the matter.” 

“ I have considered, mamma, and have something to 
tell you, if you don’t care about reading the paper now.” 

‘ ‘ What is it. Folly ? ’ ’ 

Folly stood by the window, behind her mother, look- 
ing out. 

“I have promised Neil Carter, with your consent, 
to be his wife.” 

“ Folly ! I am afraid this is too sudden. Do you 
think you care sufficiently for him ? ’ ’ 

“It is difficult to tell, mamma, but it seemed to be 
the only way out.” 

At that moment Doctor Griffith entered the room, 
unannounced, with the familiarity of a family physician. 
Folly’s cheeks flushed hotly, and she left the room with 
a brief good-morning to the doctor. 


CHAPTEK XII 


IN BONDAGE 

‘‘TJIOK my part, I am not willing to go on in this 
way any longer. If you are not ashamed of 
our engagement, what on earth is the reason 
that you wish to keep it such a dead secret ? ’ ’ 

Thus spoke Neil Carter, sitting in Mrs. Eodnor’s 
parlor one afternoon in February. His voice had the 
peculiarly disagreeable intonation of a coarse-grained 
man when angry, and yet his irritation was not unrea- 
sonable. 

Folly, sitting opposite him in a low rocking-chair 
with a bit of fancy work in her hands, felt both these 
facts, his disagreeable manner and the justice of his 
upbraiding. It was with difficulty that she submitted 
to the tone in which he addressed her ; her cheeks 
flushed, and there was a proud curl of the lips, but she 
said nothing. Her fingers moved swiftly through the 
soft, white wool ; she keep her eyes upon them. 

‘‘Well ! Do you propose to give a fellow an answer 
to a civil question? Because if you don’t, I guess I 
will be off,” this was said with increased irritation and 
the speaker rose impatiently. 

There was a momentary strife in Folly’s mind be- 
tween the impulse coolly to let him go, and the impulse 
62 


IN BONDAGE 


63 


to keep him, as she knew how to do, by a look and a 
word. Perhaps when it came to the point she did not 
quite dare to do the former ; certain it is that when 
she spoke it was to say playfully : 

Why, whatever is the matter, Neil? To think of 
your being cross to Folly ! ’ ’ and with that there was a 
little pouting which seemed to be irresistible to the 
young man, for he immediately lost the peculiar air of 
an excited turkey cock which he had been wearing ; he 
smoothed down, as it were, his ruffled plumage and re- 
sumed his seat. Still it was evident that he intended 
to carry his point this time, and not to be lured aside 
by his opponent’s stratagems. 

‘‘I am not cross. Folly,” he said more gently. 
‘‘You know I never could be cross to you, but I do 
feel it a great deal, the way you act about our engage- 
ment. Every one suspects it, and I am twitted with 
it by all the fellows, and everywhere I go. I have to 
‘lie like a trooper,’ right and left, and everybody 
knows it, and it looks as if I were ashamed of the en- 
gagement myself, and I’m not, by Jove, and I don’t 
choose to stand their impudence any longer ! ” 

His excitement was rising again ; Folly attempted 
to speak, but he paid no attention to her and went on : 

“ Besides, I want to take you down to our house 
and have you get more acquainted with father and 
mother. They can’t understand why you don’t come 
there more, and why they shouldn’t be allowed to men- 
tion my engagement. I’m put in a tight place all 
around ; and I should think you would see it yourself. 


64 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


We shall be married before long, and I donH see how 
you are going to keep that a secret, and why isn’t one 
time as good as another to announce that we are going 
to be ? ” 

The flush had faded from Folly’s cheeks as Neil 
went on, and now she was slightly pale and there was 
a moment’s pause. But when she spoke her voice was 
quite firm. 

I think you are right, Neil. It was foolish of me 
to care to keep our engagement to ourselves, but I 
think it is a feeling that a great many girls have at 
first. Of course it must be known, as you say, and 
you can announce it when you please. ’ ’ 

He looked at her, evidently not quite satisfied, 
although she had given him all he had asked. He was 
not a man of quick perceptions, and he had a thorough- 
going self-satisfaction which blinded him to several 
things in the manner of his betrothed which would 
have disturbed a more sensitive man ; but he could 
not help wishing that Folly would seem happier about 
this thing. For his part he should think she might 
feel rather pleased than otherwise to have it known that 
she was engaged to be married to him, Neil Carter. 

His hand was busy in his breast pocket now ; Folly 
knew for what, but neither the thought nor the sight 
of the magnificent diamond ring which he had often 
asked her to wear before, sufiiced to bring the color 
back to her cheeks. 

He had taken her hand now and slipped the ring on 
the slender finger. She allowed him to do this with no 


IN BONDAGE 


65 


sign of reluctance, nor did she shrink from him as he 
kissed her and whispered some fond, caressing words in 
her ear, but she shivered slightly, and the look of her 
face was pitiful to see. It was as if that ring were a 
heavy chain binding her to a future which she did not 
dare to face ; as if every word of love and every caress 
which she accepted from this man were degrading and 
soiling her womanhood, her purity. Every true, 
maidenly instinct within her was in revolt ; what won- 
der if her will and her ambition sometimes were near 
surrender ? But they rallied and held their own 
throughout this conflict ; it might be safe to trust them 
now. 

It was just a month since she had become engaged 
to Neil Carter, and the whole month was like a fever- 
ish dream to Folly. At the very outset she had been 
confronted by Doctor Griffith, that early morning when 
she had told her mother in hard words, harder than 
she had meant, that she had consented to marry Neil 
Carter, that being ‘‘the only way out’’ of their diffi- 
culties. Had Doctor Griffith heard enough to under- 
stand ? 

At first this uncertainty had given Folly acute dis- 
tress, but gradually she saw that it made very little 
difference whether he had or not ; she knew the un- 
compromising severity of his judgment of such a man 
as Neil, and she knew that she must be lowered beyond 
hope in his eyes when he found what she had done. 
For some reason this thought followed her constantly 
and would not be dismissed. It was as if Doctor Grif- 

E 


66 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


fith represented in himself all the higher motives and 
aims and the pure conscience which she had once pos- 
sessed. He seemed to stand like a ‘Mread angel re- 
proof’’ in her imagination constantly. But she saw 
him no more. 

Sometimes Folly had a strong desire to see him, to 
tell him herself of her engagement and ask him, with a 
pretty audacity which she knew how to use, what he 
thought of it ; to defend Neil, to tell him how much 
good there was in him, how he loved her. Perhaps she 
was mistaken ; perhaps he would judge her more gently 
than she thought. But she had no opportunity for try- 
ing this experiment. That morning Doctor Griffith 
had told Mrs. Bodnor that he should not need to visit 
her again, and Folly had not seen him since. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE PRIDE OF LIFE 

M eanwhile Nell was as devoted a lover as girl 
ever had. It is injustice to Folly to suppose that 
she was entirely destitute of regard for him. He 
had always admired her above all other girls, and he 
had made his admiration, and latterly his love, mani- 
fest. He had surrounded her with constant attention, 
had watched for every opportunity of giving her some 
pleasant surprise, and he had certainly given himself 
to her at his best. 

Neil’s language was never marked by refinement, 
but he carefully cut from his vocabulary, when in her 
presence, all the coarse and profane expressions which 
had become habitual to him, and he had tried in more 
ways than Folly knew, to behave himself for her sake. 
It was not in Folly’s nature to be totally indifferent to 
love, and she knew Neil loved her, and that night 
when she gave herself to him, the feeling uppermost in 
her mind was a craving for sympathy and comfort, not 
the baser motive. 

Then began the difficult work of adjusting herself to 
this new relation, and at first Folly was overwhelmed 
when the realization came to her, that she was pledged 
to this man for the closest intimacy of life. She knew 

67 


68 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HEKSELF 


that he drank — the other young men of their set drank 
too, there was a little comfort in that ; she supposed 
that he played cards for money ; she knew that he was 
devoted to horses and racing, for his talk was largely on 
these subjects. She had heard — but that thought she 
kept buried almost below the level of her own conscious- 
ness — of things worse than all these. These things did 
not repel Folly as they would have done before she had 
herself participated, in refined, ladylike manner, to be 
sure, in many of these same dissipations. The sharp 
edge of her own moral nature was a little blunted, and 
yet Folly had a lofty ideal of love and marriage, and 
he was to have been a knight like the Chevalier Bay- 
ard, 

Without fear and without reproach 

who should one day have won her love. But she 
learned to tell herself that all that was over now for 
her ; life was a hard and bitter thing ; practically, mar- 
riage was a matter very much of circumstances. Neil 
Carter and she were thrown together in society ; he 
was handsome, stylish, wealthy, fairly intelligent, fast, 
to be sure, but not faster than many others ; he was in 
love with her — what was more natural than that they 
should marry ? It was what happened every day. 

In this way Folly acquitted herself as best she could, 
and for the rest she threw herself into the whirl of 
society as she never had done before. 

Mrs. Kodnor, wdio had at first felt great anxiety lest 
Folly should be making a misstep in entering into this 
engagement, and who yet did not dream of withholding 


THE PRIDE OF FIFE 


69 


her consent, so accustomed was she to yielding to all 
Folly’s plans and desires — watching the girl, gradually 
satisfied herself that Folly was happy. This being the 
case it seemed to her that all was well with them. Her 
cares and anxieties for Folly would soon be over ; they 
could get along very comfortably until the marriage 
which would, of course, be soon, and then Folly could 
have every desire of her heart gratified and she herself 
could live comfortably on her little income. 

Neil was most kind and attentive to Mrs. Kodnor, 
and no doubt she would live with them, but she would 
be independent all the same. Her health improved 
fast now, and this fact seemed to Folly almost to justify 
her in the step she had taken. All these things to- 
gether made a very cheerful atmosphere in the Eodnors’ 
home where so lately dread shadows had dwelt. 

Neil was lavish, yet thoughtful, in his gifts ; exquisite 
flowers, beautiful books, and dainty trifles came from 
him almost daily ; and Folly who loved and luxuriated 
in beauty and elegance, found satisfaction, for the time, 
in these external things which must take the place to 
her of love and honor. She knew that they were the 
prelude to a pretty modern house, horses and carriages, 
fine clothes, and endless gayeties by and by ; and some- 
times she would feel a thrill of exultation, when she 
saw Mrs. Thomas McNaughton and other wealthy 
women whom she had envied, and realized that soon 
she would rival them in elegance and surpass them as 
a leader in society, for Folly knew that with abundant 
means at her command she had the power to do that. 


70 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HEESELF 


Every one noticed the change in Folly when she re- 
turned to society. She dressed better than she ever 
had before ; she wore jewelry which no one had seen 
her wear until now ; she was gayer than ever ; but 
there was a suppressed excitement and restlessness about 
her, and her gayety sometimes seemed forced. Every- 
one noticed too, Neil Carter’s devotion to her, and the 
question was asked repeatedly : Do you suppose Folly 
will accept him?” Some believed she would, others 
doubted, many suspected that it was a foregone conclu- 
sion. 

But Folly herself enlightened no one. She shrank 
unutterably from publishing the step she had taken to 
all the world, for its cold comments and its sneers. 
Perhaps she felt that it would become more absolutely 
irrevocable when known. Perhaps there were some 
who loved her and believed in her, whom she dreaded 
to undeceive. She had put off the time of announce- 
ment on one excuse and another, until as we have seen, 
her lover lost patience and determined to carry the 
matter with a high hand. 

She agreed now to go with him to a reception which 
was to be given the next evening at one of the most 
luxurious homes in the city, as his betrothed wife. He 
was to have perfect liberty in the meantime to mention 
the fact of his engagement to whom he chose. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE ANNOUNCEMENT 

N eil carter had caused the news of his en- 
gagement to be so industriously circulated that 
when he appeared in the doorway of Mr. Stan- 
ley’s drawing room the next night, with Folly on his 
arm, there was a decided sensation in the room ; a 
whisper passed from one to another, and many eyes 
were fixed upon the young pair, as they walked the 
length of the room to speak to the hostess. 

This was precisely what Neil wanted. 

Nothing could have been more to his mind. He 
was really glad now that Folly had delayed announc- 
ing their engagement until this evening, which was 
likely to become the most brilliant occasion of the sea- 
son, for Neil Carter liked to make a sensation. He 
wanted to wear the finest clothes, to give the best sup- 
pers with the rarest wines, to drive the fastest horses, to 
marry the prettiest girl, of any man in his set ; and for 
each of these things he wanted to be envied. That 
was an important part of his enjoyment. 

He had determined that Folly should outshine every 
lady in the room this evening, and he was satisfied. 
Folly’s step was firm, and the carriage of her golden- 
haired head had never been prouder than when she 

71 


72 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


ran the gauntlet of those many curious and critical 
eyes. She was determined that every one should think 
her perfectly happy, and the thought flashed through 
her mind that she probably never should be any nearer 
happiness than she was at that moment. 

Several other guests had closely preceded Neil and 
Folly, and they were obliged to stand waiting a min- 
ute or two before Mrs. Stanley was at liberty to speak 
with them. As they stood thus waiting. Folly heard 
two voices ; they were carefully lowered, but every 
word was distinctly audible to her ear. One voice she 
knew ; it was that of Jack Buel, NeiPs partner. His 
words were the first she caught : 

“ Yes, Neil will get his money’s worth.” 

‘‘More than that, I should say,” returned the 
other. ‘ ‘ A clever girl ! She goes in with her eyes 
open, anyway. She must know what she is doing.” 

Folly lost the words which followed, but a sickening 
perception that it w^as herself of wdiom they spoke 
came to her. At that moment the persons in front of 
them moved on, and they advanced toward Mrs. Stan- 
ley. Folly had turned so Avhite that that lady started 
to ask her, with quick concern, if she were ill, but 
there was a strange, imperious flash in the dark eyes 
which, she hardly knew why, forbade her, and she 
turned her inquiry into a congratulation, which Folly 
received with cold acquiescence. 

Neil noticed nothing of all this. He had not heard 
what Folly had, and he was in the highest spirits. A 
great part of the evening he was receiving congratula- 


THE ANNOUNCEMENT 


73 


tious, laughing loud, dancing much, and drinking 
often. 

Folly played her part out as best she could, but she 
was stricken to the heart, and spoke and moved in a 
dazed, dreamy way, while those bitter words seemed to 
revolve in her brain as if they were a kind of tortur- 
ing wheel : Neil will get his money’s worth ” ; ‘‘She 
goes in with her eyes open.” 

She had expected envious and unkind comments, but 
nothing like this. It was so terribly, terribly close to 
the mark. It revealed the whole degradation of her 
position to her even in the eyes of worldly people, and 
showed it in the most glaring light, naked, stripped of 
all disguise. With thoughts like these darting through 
her mind. Folly whirled through waltz after waltz and 
walked through quadrille after quadrille, feeling as if 
she were a puppet in a show ; and yet no one knew, 
no one saw aught amiss in her. 

Before supper was over Neil brought her back, at 
her request, into the great drawing room. She sank 
down wearily upon a small sofa in a bay window, where 
she thought she might be alone a moment with her tor- 
tured heart, for Neil left her with some meaningless 
excuse and went back to the supper room. She thought, 
with a dreamy indifference, that he had probably gone 
for more wine ; it did not seem to matter much to her, 
nothing could now ; but she was to find that one more 
draft of a bitter cup was to be hers that night. 

The guests streamed back into the parlor, and soon 
her little retreat was discovered and surrounded. Still 


74 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


Neil did not return. One and another asked her to 
dance, but she refused, saying she was tired. So she 
watched the others, and talked when she could not help 
it. Half an hour passed, and Jack Buel came up and 
took a seat by her side with a respectful familiarity. 

Good-evening, Miss Folly. I haven’t had a 
chance to make my congratulations to you yet, but it’s 
high time I did. I have no doubt you are perfectly 
happy to-night ” 

He was startled by the grave, reproachful look of 
her face as she interrupted him with, ‘‘Please spare 
me, Mr. Buel. The sincerity of your congratula- 
tions ’ ’ 

At that moment she was herself interrupted. Neil 
stood before them, his face flushed, his eyes wandering 
with an uncertain glare. He was trying to speak, but 
could scarcely articulate. 

“Never had such time — find anybody — I’ve looked 
for you. Folly, my darling — have honest — all over — 
went to the smoking room — but you weren’t there ” 

At this two very young men who stood by listening 
laughed aloud, it was such a capital joke, and Folly, 
with white lips and dilated eyes, looked piteously up at 
Jack Buel. 

“Why don’t you help me? We will go home.” 
Her lips shaped the words, but no sound came from 
them. 

“Come, Neil,” said Buel, taking him by the arm, 
“it’s time to go home now. Don’t feel bad about 
this. Miss Folly, it is nothing unusual.” 


THE ANNOUNCEMENT 


75 


‘‘Not in the least, not in the least, my dear,” re- 
peated Neil thickly, but with great earnestness, at the 
same time trying to make Folly take his arm. 

“Oh, I shall die!” cried the poor girl, covering 
her face. “ Shall I ever get home ? ” and then, gath- 
ering all her strength together, she rose and, leaving 
them both, walked straight to Mrs. Stanley, whom she 
bade good-evening, briefly, but with courtesy and com- 
posure, telling her that Mr. Carter was obliged to leave 
early, and then she passed out to the dressing room. 

The maid in waiting there helped her to put on her 
cloak and hood, wondering at her great, frightened eyes 
and white face. Folly had ordered her carriage and 
hoped that she might be suffered to go home alone, but 
when she reached the front door. Jack Buel was wait- 
ing, and Neil with him. 

‘ ‘ Miss Folly, ’ ’ said the former, ‘ ‘ I could not per- 
suade Neil to leave you to my care. He insists upon 
escorting you himself ; but he is pretty near right 
now.” Then in an undertone, “ I Avill go Avith you if 
you like. ” 

“Thank you, no,” said Folly, turning upon him a 
look sad and stern as of “an insulted queen,” he said 
after Avard, and she passed on, out to the carriage, fol- 
loAved by Neil. She sprang in and closed the door so 
quickly that Neil found himself shut out, standing upon 
the pavement. She dropped the AvindoAV doAvn and said 
to him in a Ioav voice ; “You may come to my house in 
the morning, Avhen you are sober,” and with that the 
carriage rolled aAvay. 


76 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


When Folly reached home her resolution was firm to 
see Neil in the morning and insist upon being released 
from her engagement. In the first force of her out- 
raged feeling that seemed to her the only possible course 
open. Alone in her room she stood before the mirror 
and looked at her own reflection, startled herself at its 
dazzling beauty, it was so in contrast to her gloomy 
thoughts. She had clean forgotten what she wore, and 
now, as she saw again the glittering, shimmering dress 
and jeweled ornaments, she said half aloud : “ It is the 
last time.’’ 

And yet there was a wild rush of regret as she 
thought of giving up all the luxury which had been 
fairly within her possession, which still was ; she did 
like it so. She liked to be beautiful and beautifully 
dressed, to be surrounded by beautiful sights and 
sounds. She had never before realized how much she 
cared for all these things. 

As Folly stood thus facing herself in the mirror, she 
felt in that strange second consciousness, which we have 
sometimes in moments of excitement, that there was al- 
ready a deflection, a yielding in the secret place of the 
will, from the firm resolve of an hour ago. The out- 
posts of her mind stood strong and unwavering, her 
front was bold, but in the citadel itself there was a 
suggestion of compromise, a possibility of capitulation. 


CHAPTER XV 


A SPIEITUAL BATTLE 

F olly turned away and proceeded to change her 
party dress for a warm dressing-gown. She did 
not prepare for rest, nor did she expect to sleep 
that night ; she felt that she should wrestle until dawn. 

As she moved about the room a slight significance 
in her action struck her ; she was laying aside a cos- 
tume of splendor and beauty for a dull, commonplace 
garment. So also she was preparing to go into a strug- 
gling, poverty-stricken existence, cold and bare and 
destitute of much that made life pleasant to her. And 
her poor mother ! She must give up all the comfort 
she had been looking forward to in her old age, for 
what was left them now but to live in some shabby, 
comfortless house, without a servant even, to pinch and 
worry and work for their daily bread. Oh, would it 
not be better if one could die ? 

The thought followed hard upon this of what ‘^people 
would say ” when they heard that Folly Rodnor’s en- 
gagement was broken the day after it was announced, 
and how quickly she would be dropped and forgotten 
when their poverty was openly declared. Then she 
began to dread the interview with Xeil. She had felt 
more than once the coarse, domineering nature of the 

77 


78 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


man ; she knew that he would be bitterly angered at 
the humiliation she was going to bring him, as well as 
overwhelmed at the thought of losing her. How was 
she to go through that scene and stand firm ? 

Inch by inch she was yielding now. It was begin- 
ning to seem easier to let things go on, after all, in 
their natural course, when suddenly the vision of Neil, 
as he had stood before her that evening in his maudlin 
imbecility, came before her mind, and all the woman- 
hood in her rose in arms against this cowardly waver- 
ing. Soon, however, she would react from this better 
frame. And so, all night long. Folly’s soul was a bat- 
tleground upon which first one and then the other 
force seemed gaining the victory. She was too strong 
to make the one decision, too weak to make the other. 

The bells in a church near-by rang out four resound- 
ing strokes, and Folly, who had been walking up and 
down, up and down the length of her little room, paused 
beside her dressing-table, listening to their clangor, 
which seemed to fill all the air with reverberation. She 
started back as she caught sight of herself in the glass 
for the first time since she had laid aside her bright 
party dress. She had never seen herself like this be- 
fore — a white, sharp, wan face, with glassy, hollow 
eyes, the fair hair tossed and hanging loose over the 
plain, dark robe. Was this the old Folly? 

Turning away with a sinking heart and tremulous 
lips, a sharp pain through her eyes, which meant that 
tears would force their way, her glance rested upon two 
small books, bound alike in morocco, with red edges. 


A SPIRITUAL BATTLE 


79 


lying together in a corner of her dressing-table, half 
concealed, wholly forgotten. 

‘ ‘ Why, yes, ’ ’ she thought, with a faint smile, 
stretching out her little, cold hand eagerly and taking 
up the books, had forgotten about my Bible. I 
suppose I could pray. That is what people do when 
they are in trouble.’’ 

She sat down under the gaslight and turned the 
leaves of the book over half-mechanically. One was 
a copy of the New Testament, the other of Thomas a 
Kempis. 

“Oh, if it had only ever meant anything to me,” 
thought Folly wearily, as she glanced over the pages 
for the first time in many months, “it might help me 
now,” and her thoughts wandered back to the time, 
over three years ago, when she had been received into 
Doctor Hale’s church. 

She was a schoolgirl then, full of sentiment, and with 
a poetic, almost passionate turn for religious devotion. 
Seeking some expression for the nameless stirrings of 
spiritual feeling in her, she had naturally joined the 
church of which her mother was a member. She had 
not been called upon at that or any other time to de- 
scribe or define her own experience or belief ; no one 
had ever talked with her on the subject. 

She had half hoped, half feared, that Doctor Hale 
would do so, but he was not one of those who talk of 
religious concerns outside the pulpit. He was a man 
of fine intellectual ability, of genial and jovial manners, 
witty, highly cultivated, a great favorite in society, of a 


80 


WHEN SHE GAME TO HERSELF 


literary caste, but irreverent to a degree, and self-indul- 
gent. He fairly represented his church, and Folly soon 
found that experimental religion was the least considera- 
tion in the economy of that body. If Doctor Hale had 
been a man of spiritual insight and of devotion to 
Christ, he could have led Folly at that time a few steps 
only and have brought her to the foot of the cross. 
But she looked and there was none to help, and as the 
years passed she drifted farther and farther away. 

As she became absorbed in fashionable life, Folly’s 
sentiment of religion — for it was neither principle nor 
conviction nor experience, but purely sentiment — was 
crowded out, just as her interest in classical literature 
and in scientific study had been by the round of gaye- 
ties in which she whirled. She had, until the time of 
her mother’s illness, taught a class in the mission school 
connected with Doctor Hale’s church and had rather 
enjoyed it. There was something picturesque in going 
in her beauty and elegance among those rough and 
ragged little outlaws, who regarded her almost as a 
being from another world and admired her with frank 
enthusiasm. The religious element in this work was 
slight, but it seemed still to Folly that when she gave 
up her class, it was the last gasp of her attempt to lead 
a Christian life. 

So now, as she sat glancing over these neglected vol- 
umes, the words that caught her eye here and there 
were almost as strange to her as if they had never been 
read before ; she had lived apart from any thought of 
God so long. 


A SPIRITUAL BATTLE 


81 


‘‘What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole 
world and lose his own soul ? or what shall a man give 
in exchange for his soul ? ’’ 

She stopped turning the leaves ; her eyes were fixed 
upon these words. 

“ Yes,” she thought, “ it is my soul that I am deal- 
ing with now. I had almost forgotten that I had one. 
But I believe — yes, I see it clearly — that if I do this 
thing, it is to gain the world and lose my soul. What 
will it profit me ? But, will it save my soul if I do not 
do it ? Oh, how I have fallen when I think to take 
credit to myself if I do not make false vows to love and 
honor a man whom I despise, and do not sell myself for 
money, for it is that ; it is just as bad as they said. 
Oh, if I could be pure in heart again ! ” Then Folly 
threw herself upon her knees and poured out her whole 
soul in prayer, the first real prayer of her life for purity 
and peace, for forgiveness and healing. 

As she prayed, the Christ who had died for such as 
she seemed to stand before her as a refuge of her soul. 
She told him all, keeping back no secret sin, and she 
pleaded, in humility, that he would wash her thoroughly 
from her iniquity and cleanse her from her sin. With 
all her will she consented to follow him whithersoever 
he should lead, and so, there in that little room, in the 
cold, gray dawn, the better angel prevailed and Folly’s 
_ tossed and troubled heart found a quiet haven. 


F 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE TESTING 

I T was eleven o’clock of that same day when Folly 
heard the bell ring and found that Xeil Carter was 
waiting to see her in the parlor. She had slept a 
few hours and was calm, though worn and exhausted, 
and was ready to go downstairs without delay. There 
was no anger in her heart now toward Neil and none 
of the bitterness of contempt ; she was thinking only of 
how she could tell him the truth gently and kindly. 
She did not mean to spare herself ; she would be honest 
now at any cost. 

He was standing where he had stood the night w^hen 
she gave him the promise which she was now to take 
back. He was pale and heavy-eyed, and there was an 
anxious, dispirited expression in his face which touched 
Folly. She held out her hand to him, and he was 
about to kiss her, but she drew back a step, saying 
gently : 

Good -morning, Neil. You came as I asked you ; 
I am glad to see you.” 

‘‘ Did you want anything in particular ? ” he asked, 
with an attempt at nonchalance. 

‘‘ Yes ; sit down, please, I have something to ask of 
you.” 


82 


THE TESTING 


83 


He gave her a sharp, sidelong glance, as he took a 
chair in obedience to her request. There was some- 
thing unusual in her voice and manner, something that 
made him feel at a very uncomfortable distance from 
her. And those eyes of hers — what was it in them 
that made a fellow look down as quick as he met them ? 
Something like this his thoughts ran. 

She paused a moment, looked down, and then tak- 
ing a small velvet box from her pocket she began : 

Neil, I want you to forgive me, but you must take 
this back ; I cannot wear it any longer.” 

His face changed as he saw what she held in her 
hand ; he flushed and then grew pale, and his lips 
moved uneasily. He made no motion to take the box 
which she held out to him, and she dropped her hand. 

That is all nonsense. Folly,” and Neil strove hard 
to make his voice firm. ‘‘You’re not going to be so 
hard on a man as that, because he got a little excited. 
Why, there’s no use in taking a thing to heart so ; all 
the fellows do just so once in a while, and last night I 
was so happy and so proud that I got a little off my 
guard. You must excuse it this time. Folly ; it sha’n’t 
happen again, and I think there’s enough said. Come, 
do be sensible. ’ ’ 

“ Neil, you must understand that I am in earnest,” 
said Folly, nerving herself for what she feared would be 
a long contest. “It is not only what happened last 
night that makes me ask you this, but I have been 
thinking over the whole matter of our engagement and 
I know that it is a mistake. ’ ’ 


84 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


That is a pleasant discovery for me/^ he replied 
shortly. A pity you hadn’t found it out before.” 

‘‘It is a pity,” returned Folly humbly, “and I 
know that the blame is all with me, and I am perfectly 
willing that every one should know that it is my fault 
that the engagement is broken.” 

At this Neil sprang to his feet — he had not fully 
taken in her purpose before — and exclaimed angrily : 
“What do you mean? You had better be a little 
careful. Miss Folly, of how you play your little games 
with me. You may as well understand that I am not 
to be off one day and on the next. You have promised 
to marry me, and there is no getting away from it now. 
Do you suppose that I would submit to being thrown 
over by you and having everybody talk about it? ” 

The whole brutal selfishness of the man came to the 
surface now, and Folly grew almost faint as she realized 
what a nature she had to deal with. What if he could 
force her to marry him ? She would rather die now 
than do that. But her common sense told her presently 
that there could be no compulsion in the matter. 

She rose at once and with a coldness and dignity 
such as Neil Carter had never seen in her before, turned 
to leave the room. 

“ Stop ! ” he called. “ I am not going to have this 
thing left at loose ends. I want to know if you under- 
stand me ? ” 

“I am afraid I do,” she replied quickly, standing 
still. “ I wish I had before, and yet I cannot blame 
you. I do not know that there is any use in our talk- 


THE TESTING 


85 


ing any more ; you have heard all that I have to say. 
I know that I have wronged you deeply and I can 
never forgive myself for it. I never loved you as a 
girl ought to love the man she is engaged to, and that 
was not your fault, but mine ; and now I will not do 
you the greater wrong of marrying you without the 
right love, and so I break our engagement here and 
now,’’ and she laid the ring in its case before him on 
the table. 

He was at the white heat of passion now, and no 
taunt could be too mean or cowardly for him to use. 

‘‘I’m beginning to see into this thing,” he said 
hoarsely. “You went into this engagement on specu- 
lation. Well, if I were to express an opinion, I should 
say you were making a pretty good thing out of it so 
far. What was the trouble ? Have you heard of any- 
thing that pays better ? ’ ’ 

It was hard, but Folly felt that even this was to be 
borne ; she had deserved it, perhaps. 

She did not turn and leave as she could have done 
if her conscience had told her that she had been free 
from every suspicion of the evil he imputed to her. 
Her head dropped low, but she stood motionless before 
him. Something in the meekness, in the sweet woman- 
liness of her face and attitude, touched the man and 
awoke all his love again. His voice grew gentle as he 
exclaimed : 

‘ ‘ 0 Folly, put an end to all this. I love you ; yon 
know I do,” and he came nearer and would have ca- 
ressed her. But from this she recoiled. 


86 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


‘‘I wish to put an end to it, now and here, Mr. 
Carter,’’ she said firmly. I have heard all that you 
can say, I think, certainly all that I am willing to hear, 
and you have my decision, which can never be changed. 
I must beg you now to excuse me ; I shall send all the 
gifts, which you have been so generous in giving to me, 
back to you as soon as I can,” and with a formal and 
final bow Folly left the room and went upstairs. 

A moment later she heard the house door open and 
shut violently, and she knew that the struggle was over. 


CHAPTEK XVII 


FOLLY TAKES THE INITIATIVE 

F or a few days Folly stayed quietly at home, seeing 
almost nobody except her mother. This absence 
of callers she felt to be significant. Probably 
Xeil had circulated the story that his engagement was 
broken as diligently as he had announced that it was 
made. She wondered what coloring he Avould give it ; 
she felt sure that he would seek revenge by represent- 
ing her in the worst possible light, but she bore up 
bravely and her mother did not suspect that anything 
was wrong. 

Mrs. Rodnor had been somewhat more feeble and 
ailing for a week past, and Folly, watching her mother 
anxiously, felt sure that it was not best to tell her of 
the serious change which must now take place in all 
their plans and expectations. She could not tell her 
of the blessed peace and hope which were upholding 
her now without also disclosing the agony and struggle 
through which she had been passing, so both were shut 
in her own heart. And still her mother felt a subtle, 
indescribable change in the girl. There was a new 
gentleness about her and a different expression in her 
face ; she was more subdued than usual ; her gayety 
was gone, but there was an atmosphere of quiet gladness 

87 


88 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


about her, which seemed to fill the whole house with 
peace. 

‘‘She is growing very fond of Neil,’’ thought the 
mother. “ I do believe my child is going to be happy, 
after all. Oh, my God, I thank thee!” and tears 
brimmed her eyes. She was listening to Folly, who 
was moving about in the room above, singing. Her 
voice was sweet and clear, and now, as she came down- 
stairs and went into the next room, the words were : 

“ I need Thy presence every passing hour, 

What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power? 

Who like thyself my guide and stay can be? 

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide wdth me.” 

‘ ‘ My Florence is a good girl, ’ ’ she thought, and 
then, as Folly came into the room with the morning 
paper in her hand, she said : “ How sweet those words 
are, dear.” 

“Aren’t they, mother?” said Folly cheerfully, sit- 
ting down in the sunny bay window among her flowers. 
Their home seemed very pleasant to her that morning. 

“It is a comfort to me. Folly, to see you seem so 
happy ; you have looked a little pale for a day or two, 
but I think you feel pretty well this morning, don’t 
you?” 

“Yes, mamma dear, I do, and I think I shall go 
down street and perhaps take a long walk afterward, it 
is such a beautiful day. You wouldn’t mind, would 
you, if I didn’t get back to lunch, or even until dinner 
to-night? ” 

Folly had a little memorandum book in her hand 


FOLLY TAKES THE INITIATIVE 


89 


and she was writing down brief notes in it from the 
newspaper which she seemed to be consulting. 

“ That will be all right. I will have just the quiet 
day I like once in a while. I will go and speak to 
Mary about it now,” and Mrs. Kodnor left the room. 

Folly was thankful and surprised that she had 
escaped the question she was constantly dreading, as to 
why Neil did not come. It was now three days since 
she had seen him. 

No time was to be lost now ; she had a hard day’s 
work before her, although how hard she did not know. 
She had decided to devote the day to finding a house at 
a low rent into which they could move at the end of 
the present month, to take the responsibility of engag- 
ing it, and all the needful measures in preparation for 
the change. When it was necessary, she could tell her 
mother about all these things as accomplished and not 
things to be dreaded, and so relieve her from anxiety 
in the matter as far as possible. 

Action was natural to Folly, and now that she 
bravely faced the fact that they must make a thorough 
and radical change in their mode of life, she brought 
the promptness and business ability which she really 
possessed to bear upon the practical details of that 
change and found positive satisfaction in doing so. 

In a short time she was dressed for the street in a 
plain walking suit, a little round hat, and a trim jacket 
bordered with fur. She had never looked brighter nor 
prettier than when she started from home that morning. 
Her plan of proceedings w^as systematically laid out. 


90 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


and she felt, so she thought, like a general preparing 
for a campaign. She had been carefully figuring on 
their expenses when reduced to the lowest possible 
point, allowing very little for clothes and nothing for 
unnecessary luxuries, and had found that she could not 
afford to pay much more than two hundred dollars 
yearly for house rent. If she herself could get a posi- 
tion as teacher, by which she could earn two hundred 
dollars a year or more, they could continue to keep 
Mary, otherwise she must earn Mary’s wages by doing 
Mary’s work. This she dreaded, being ignorant of the 
details of housework, and she held, clasped tightly in 
her muff, a sealed envelope addressed to the Morning 
Advertiser,” which contained the following carefully 
written notice : 

A young lady of finished education and of experi- 
ence in teaching children desires a position as daily 
governess in a private family, or as assistant in a 
school. Address will be found by applying at this 
office.” 

Folly’s first errand was to drop this communication 
in the post office. It gave her a strange trepidation, 
this simple matter ; she felt as if she were exposed and 
set up before the public eye by it. She could not help 
hoping that none of her acquaintances would think of 
her when they read it. 

Coming out of the office, she was looking up the 
street to see if the car which she wished to take was 
in sight, when she saw Celia Caxton approaching her 
on the sidewalk. It had been the custom of the 


FOLLY TAKES THE INITIATIVE 


91 


two girls to meet with great effusion and to stop for a 
minute’s talk. Folly did not think at the moment of 
any reason why there should be a difference this morn- 
ing. She stepped toward Miss Caxton, holding out 
her hand, with a smile and a pleasant word on her lips, 
but, to her surprise, that young lady passed her hur- 
riedly, looking persistently in the opposite direction. 
Folly tried at first to think this was not an intentional 
cut, but it was difficult to explain it in that way, and 
immediately it dawned upon her that this was the result 
of Neil Carter’s account of the severance of their en- 
gagement. She could guess by this one small incident 
very nearly what his explanation must have been, — that 
she had tried to marry him for the sake of his money, 
and that he, having found this out, had broken the 
engagement. Doubtless this was but the beginning of 
what she might expect, for if he made all her friends 
believe this, how could they help despising her ? In- 
deed, would they not on the most favorable interpreta- 
tion possible? ^you]d they not, in fact, if they knew 
the truth ? These miserable reflections sufficed to take 
all the courage and hopefulness from Folly’s heart. 

She took her seat in the car, which just then came 
along, and looked with a sad and troubled face from 
the window. Life seemed harder just then than she 
had thought it could. But a moment more and the 
hymn which she had been singing in the morning came 
to her mind : 

I need Thy presence every passing hour, 

What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power? 


92 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


Now was the time to turn to Christ for help, for she 
sorely needed it, and the passengers in that crowded 
car, jostling each other indifferently, men in rough 
overcoats, working women, with here and there a spruce 
clerk and a showily dressed lady, as they noticed the 
beautiful girl with the unmistakable air of elegance and 
fashion, were far from guessing that she was then and 
there passing through a fiery trial and that all her heart 
was going up to God in a prayer for strength. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


HOUSE-HUNTING 

O NE after another the passengers left the car which 
had passed from the busy streets but now still 
rattled tediously on and still Folly kept her seat. 
It was an unfamiliar part of the city, to her, into which 
they were now coming, semi -suburban, made up of 
short streets and small squares. All the houses were 
very much alike, none handsome, few poor. Folly 
looked anxiously out of the car window for Cherry 
Street, for she had written down the number of a house 
on that street to be rented ‘ ‘ to a small family at a low 
price. They were on a broad, barren -looking avenue 
now and nearing a narrower street, crossing it at right 
angles. The driver stopped the car as they reached 
the crossing, opened the door, and thrusting in his 
head shouted ^ ^ Cherry Street ! ’ ’ 

Folly left the car and saw it bump along over the 
rough track, leaving her the only human being visi- 
ble. She stood for a moment on the windy corner, un- 
certain which way the numbers ran. A few steps down 
the sidewalk brought her to 51, the next number was 
49. Her number was 11, so she had to walk straight 
on, and it could not be a long walk for the lots here 
were very small. The houses were all cheaply built of 

93 


94 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


wood, with a good deal of ‘ ‘ ginger-bread ’ ’ work and 
very thin coats of paint. Most of them had in the 
windows very large panes of cheap, wavy glass, and 
red front doors with a strip of plank walk running from 
them around the house. All this Folly noticed with the 
sensitiveness of one born and bred in elegance ; and still 
she was not in a mood to be disturbed by it, for she 
had overcome the bitterness of heart with which she 
had started on the expedition, and was feeling rather a 
pleasurable sense of adventure just at present. 

And here was Number 11 already, a rather bleak- 
looking house, higher and narrower, but better painted 
than its neighbors, evidently a year or two older. It 
was near the end of the street ; beyond, the houses 
were few and straggling, and there were rough fields 
diversified by ash-heaps and advertising boards, en- 
closed by unpainted fences, and a generally dingy land- 
scape. 

Folly walked bravely up to the front door of Num- 
ber 11, which she noticed, with a sense of gratitude, 
was not painted red, and pulled the white porcelain 
bell-knob. It felt very odd to her to be invading a 
stranger’s premises on an inspecting tour, but she was 
very wide-awake to every little detail. She noticed 
that there were fresh white shades in the windows, and 
everything outside seemed to be at least neat and re- 
spectable. She waited some little time before the door 
was opened by a tidy-looking, middle-aged woman. 

‘‘ Good -morning,” said Folly pleasantly, feeling as 
if she must be very conciliatory. 


HOUSE-HUNTING 


95 


Good -morning/’ returned the woman, who opened 
and shut her mouth with a snap as if it moved by ma- 
chinery. She looked at Folly sharply and did not offer 
to let her in. 

‘‘I called to look at the house,” ventured Folly 
with the utmost politeness, ‘ ‘ if you would be so kind 
as to let me. I saw in the paper that it was to rent.” 

‘‘ Oh, you did, did you? ” was the not very encour- 
aging reply. So he’s been an’ stuck a notice in the 
paper, has he ? Well, it’s just like him. I thought prob- 
ably you was collectin’ for the hospital, or the Home 
for the Friendless, or the Flower Mission. That’s what 
it generally is when young ladies like you come here. 
I don’t consider that this house is to rent, and I don’t 
know that I’m called upon to show a stranger over it, 
not to please nobody. I have rented this house myself 
and I expect to stay in it ; but I ain’t agoin’ to pay no 
three hundred dollars a year for it, that’s a sure thing ; 
and what’s more, he can’t get nobody that will, for jest 
as sure as they come here to me I’ll tell ’em the truth 
of the matter jest as it is, and it’s my duty to do it,” 
energetically. There’s dumb ague right down there 
in that swamp. See?” stepping to the edge of the 
small piazza and pointing over to the fields, where 
Folly looked, rather expecting to see the ‘‘dumb 
ague ” out for a morning walk. “ And it’s right they 
should know it. Me and him is all the’ is in the 
family and we don’t neither of us have the ague, but 
it lowers the value of the place all the same, and we 
ain’t agoin’ to pay no three hundred dollars for it, and 


96 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


that’s why Blodget — he’s the man that owns the house 
— put that notice in the paper that you see. I s’pose 
you can come in and look ’round if you like, but that’s 
all the good it’ll do. I bet you wouldn’t come here and 
run the risk. Besides,” giving Folly no chance to an- 
swer, it’s the awfulest cold house to heat in the win- 
ter you ever did see. It takes as much as a man’s 
worth to keep fires agoin’ ; and that’s not saying any- 
thing about the rats in the cellar, nor the kitchen roof 
— why it leaks so that I can’t do a thing but mop, 
mop, mop, every time it rains!” Here she paused, 
out of breath, and looked with an expression of tri- 
umph at Folly, who she saw was entirely ready to sur- 
render any designs upon the house. 

Indeed, Folly had by this time got to the foot of the 
steps, and seeing her chance to speak at last, said : 

‘‘You must excuse me for troubling you about it ; I 
did not understand the state of the case at all ; and of 
course if there’s ague I shouldn’t want the house any- 
way. Good-morning,” and without waiting for any 
further cannonading, she walked very quickly away 
from Number 11 Cherry Street. 

She could not help being amused at the woman’s 
shrewd simplicity and the eagerness with which she had 
rehearsed the defects in the house. “ I rather think,” 
said Folly to herself, an irrepressible smile passing over 
her face, ‘ ‘ that she has got the better of Blodget. He 
has caught a Tartar for a tenant this time. ’ ’ 

As she walked back, near the avenue she noticed a 
house on the opposite side of the street in a front 


HOUSE-HUNTING 


97 


window of which hung a red card bearing the words 

To rent.’’ It was a brown cottage, better built and 
having more individuality than most of the houses on 
the street, and Folly promptly crossed over, went in at 
the gate, and rang the bell. 

A tidy maid opened the door and took Folly into a 
pretty little parlor on one side of a narrow hall. 

^^Who shall I say wants to see Mrs. Lapham ? ” 
asked the girl, waiting in the doorway. 

“Miss Rodnor,” returned Folly a little confused. 
She was new to her position as house-hunter and felt 
very much as if she were an agent, and ought to apolo- 
gize for taking the lady’s time. She sat down by the 
fire, for she was chilled through from her long ride in 
the cold car, and busied her thoughts with fitting their 
home furniture into this cozy little room ; the idea was 
not at all unpleasant to her. 

As she sat thus waiting, she heard from time to time 
a hollow cough from some one in the room across the 
hall. There was something startling in it ; it told so 
plainly of dangerous or fatal disease. Folly wondered 
whether it were an old or a young person, a man or a 
woman, who was coughing. It was not long before she 
heard a step on the stairs, and a pleasant-looking, gray- 
haired lady, dressed plainly in black, came into the 
room. 


G 


CHAPTEK XIX 


FOLLY MEETS A FEIEND 

T he lady in black, Mrs. Lapham, bade Folly good- 
. morning, with a quiet self-possession which put her 
quite at ease as she told her object in calling. 
‘‘You would like of course to see the house,” said 
Mrs. Lapham ; ‘ ‘ but sit down again and get warm first ; 
you must be very cold. There is a sharp wind this 
morning.” She then told Folly the number of rooms 
in the house, and some details of the arrangement of 
them. 

“It is quite large enough for us, ’ ^ said F oily, who 
was growing more and more sanguine. 

“Your family is small, then ? ” 

“Yes, only my mother and I.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, indeed, that is almost like my own family. I 
have only a son and a daughter. We built the house 
six years ago for our own use and have always found it 
very convenient. But my daughter is an invalid, ’ ’ she 
added with a little sigh, ‘ ‘ and the doctor says she must 
spend the winters hereafter in Florida. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Then it was she I heard coughing ; I am so sorry, ’ ’ 
said Folly, with a quick sympathy. She felt instinc- 
tively drawn to Mrs. Lapham. 

That lady perceived the sincerity with which she 
98 


FOLLY MEETS A FRIENB 


99 


spoke, for she smiled kindly, though her face was sad as 
she replied : 

‘‘Yes, she has had a cough all winter, and it is so 
much as her father used to cough that it troubles me 
more. Still,’’ and she spoke more cheerfully, “the 
doctor thinks if she can go to Florida now she may get 
a great deal better ; indeed, there is everything to hope. 
I have decided to go very soon, and we shall not come 
back to this part of the city when we return. We get 
so much wind here that I am sure it will be better for 
Ada on the other side, as well as more convenient for 
my son, who enters college next fall. It is a long walk 
from here.” 

‘ ‘ I wish mother and I could take the house, ’ ’ said 
Folly frankly. ‘ ‘ It seems like a home, not like an or- 
dinary rented house.” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps it would be best for your mother to come 
and see it,” said Mrs. Lapham, seeing how young and 
evidently inexperienced Folly was. 

“No, mamma is so poorly that I didn’t even let her 
know that I am looking for a house” — and then Folly 
stopped, seeing that Mrs. Lapham looked surprised, and 
reflecting that a little explanation was necessary and 
that it would even be a comfort to give it to one whose 
heart she felt unmistakably was open to every one in 
trouble or anxiety. 

‘ ‘ I suppose that seems very strange, ’ ’ she began again, 
“and perhaps you will think that I am not a very re- 
sponsible person, but it is just this way : mamma has 
had an attack of paralysis and may have another at 


LofC. 


loo WHEN SHE CAME TO HEKSELF 

any time, especially if she has anything to make her 
worry. The doctor told me I must keep everything 
from her that would cause her any uneasiness. We are 
living now in a house for which we have to pay very 
high rent, at least very much higher than we can afford, 
and we must move this spring. But I haven’t said a 
word to mamma about it yet, and I don’t want to until 
I have a house engaged and all the arrangements made, 
and then it won’t seem so formidable to her, don’t you 
know?” 

see just how it is, my dear,” said Mrs. Lapham 
cordially, ‘ ^ and I am glad you are so careful of your 
mother. Now if you are ready I will show you over 
the house.” 

She took Folly first into a sunny sitting room across 
the hall where her daughter, a pale, sweet -faced girl of 
sixteen, was lying on a sofa with books and fancy-work 
and flowers about her. Folly talked with her a few 
minutes in her bright, winning way, and then went with 
the mother upstairs. When they had finished the tour 
of the rooms it occurred to Folly to ask Mrs. Lapham 
if she knew of any children in the neighborhood who 
would be likely to come to her for teaching. The reply 
was not encouraging : 

‘ ‘ The children around here all go to the public school. 
I am afraid you would hardly find any who do not. 
Have you ever taught ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Yes, Mrs. Lapham, I have taught a year, and I 
am very anxious to find a chance now to teach ; it is 
quite necessary that I should,” and here for the first 


FOLLY MEETS A FKIEND 


101 


time Folly bethought herself to inquire the rent of the 
house. 

‘‘I am not a very good woman of business yet, I’m 
afraid. I ought to have asked you in the first place 
about the rent,” she exclaimed. 

They were standing in the hall now as Folly looked 
up anxiously for Mrs. Lapham’s response. 

‘‘We want, if possible, to rent the house furnished for 
a year ; it would be much the more convenient way, ’ ’ and 
she named a price far beyond Folly’s present standard. 
The shade of disappointment which passed over Folly’s 
face was very perceptible. 

‘ ‘ I fear that is beyond us, ’ ’ she replied soberly, much 
disheartened, and then asked : ‘ ‘ What would the rent 
be without the furniture ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Three hundred dollars, and I should be so glad to 
have you take the house in that way if it suits you bet- 
ter. But I feel as if I must try and get some one to 
take it as it stands. If I do not succeed, shall I let 
you know ? ’ ’ 

“ I am afraid it will be of no use,” returned Folly, 
with her hand on the doorknob. Mrs. Lapham saw 
that she looked dispirited, and her heart ached to see 
that this girl so young and so lovely was facing poverty 
almost alone. She bade her good-bye with a few kindly 
words which cheered Folly, she hardly knew why. 

Upon opening the door Folly saw that a doctor’s 
carriage stood in front of the house, and to her surprise 
it was Doctor Griffith, who was at that moment alighting 
from it. 


102 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


How would he greet her ? Had he heard anything ? 
These things came on the instant to her mind. She had 
not seen him since the morning after she became en- 
gaged to Neil Carter. She could hardly realize that she 
had ever been on familiar terms with him ; he seemed 
so widely apart from her life now ; and yet there had 
not been a day when the thought of him in one way or 
another had not entered her mind. They reached the 
gate together. The doctor took off his hat and bowed 
with his usual somewhat ceremonious gravity. 

‘ ^ Good -morning, Miss Kodnor. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Good-morning, Doctor Griffith. ’ ’ 

‘‘You are quite well, I hope ; and your mother is as 
well as usual ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, I thank you, very much the same. 

He had opened the gate now and Folly passed out. 
Would he say one word more, she wondered. Although 
he stood with his hand on the gate he said nothing, and 
she bowed and walked away, trying to decide whether 
he had always been so grave and silent, or whether he 
meant to show by his manner now that he thoroughly 
disapproved of her. 

“So you are acquainted with that young lady, Doc- 
tor Griffith ? ’ ’ asked Mrs. Lapham, when the doctor 
was seated in the little sitting room and had bidden his 
patient good-morning. Mrs. Lapham had stood in the 
doorway waiting for him and had seen that he spoke to 
Folly. 

“Yes, I have attended her mother,’’ said he; “but 
I did not know that she was an acquaintance of yours. ’ ’ 















Ife opened the gate and Folly passed out.” 


Page 102 








FOLLY MEETS A FRIEND 


103 


‘ ‘ I never saw her in my life until now. She merely 
came to inquire about the house. But she is a lovely 
looking girl ; I hardly ever felt so closely drawn to a 
stranger. ’ ’ 

Here Ada broke in to say : “I think she was more 
charming than any one I ever saw. I wish I might see 
her again. 

‘‘I could not help feeling very sorry for her/’ con- 
tinued Mrs. Lapham. 

‘ ‘ Why so ? ” asked Doctor Griffith, with a quick, 
inquiring glance. 

‘‘She told me the condition of her mother’s health, 
and how she even would not let her know that she was 
looking for a house at a lower rent, for fear it would 
trouble her. She spoke too, of being very anxious to 
get a chance to teach, and I saw in a good many ways 
that they must be in quite straitened circumstances. It 
was painful to me to think of her as having trials of 
that nature to undergo. I confess she interested me 
wonderfully. ” 

Doctor Griffith made no reply ; but Mrs. Lapham 
noticed that he sat for some time stroking his moustache 
with an absent expression, and that he was unusually 
thoughtful and silent throughout the call. 

Meanwhile Folly, having consulted her memorandum 
book, and found some other houses noted in this section 
of the city, had made her way into a certain small 
square called Mt. Vernon Place, and had been shown 
over two houses. 

The first one was so filled with the stale odors of fried 


104 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


beefsteak, onions, and unaired bedrooms that the poor 
girl got out of it as quickly as possible, knowing only 
that she could never live there. The second one was 
pleasant and promising, but the rent was beyond her 


means. 


CHAPTEK XX 


HUMBLE HOPES 

B y this time Folly was so hungry that she deter- 
mined to make a raid upon a small German 
bakery which she remembered passing in the car, 
in the hope that a little lunch might revive her spirits. 
She walked back several blocks, found the bakery, and 
soon sat with a glass of milk and a big bun warming 
her feet at a great cast-iron stove, and eating with a 
childish relish. 

Thus occupied, she was forcibly reminded of the 
luncheons of salads and ices which she had been accus- 
tomed to take in fashionable restaurants when detained 
down town over meal hours. 

‘ ‘ What would Celia Caxton say if she could see me 
now ? ’ ’ she queried mentally. ‘ ‘ She would be thank- 
ful that she had prudently cut me before I lived to 
bring disgrace upon our set by such proceedings as this ; 
nevertheless, that Avas a good bun, and I’m going to 
have another. ’ ’ This last was said aloud to the rosy- 
cheeked German girl who had been watching her with 
intense wonder and admiration. 

‘‘You must give me one with a great many currants 
in it,” said Folly with her pretty, willful air, which so 
enchanted the girl that she went into the back room 

105 


106 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


and brought out a plate of wonderful spice cakes and 
insisted that she should help herself. 

‘ ‘ We make them not to sell, ’ ’ she explained. ^ ^ I 
not sell them to you ; but they are for the little shiltren 
of my bruder which spends the day mit us. ’ ’ 

Folly thanked her very warmly, and soon after, a re- 
turning car coming by, she took it and started out on 
the second division of her day’ s campaign. 

It would take far too long to describe the houses into 
which Folly went in the course of that afternoon ; 
houses little and big, houses dirty and clean, houses 
handsome and ugly, houses empty and furnished. The 
rent of many of them, of most indeed, was too high for 
her very limited means. When this was not the case 
some other insuperable obstacle appeared, and the poor 
girl found house-hunting a wearisome task. 

It was toward five o’ clock that she made her way into 
a short street running between two avenues, at a distance 
from the business part of the city. The houses here 
were all quite small, but they had good-sized yards, and 
there was a generally tidy appearance. Folly soon 
found the number which she had taken from the news- 
paper. The house was empty, application to be made 
next door. Folly had by this time become accustomed 
to her business, and she asked the girl who answered 
her ring if some one would please show her over the 
next house, without the especially conciliatory and 
apologetic air which she had had when she rang the 
bell at number eleven Cherry Street. A pleasant-look- 
ing young man in working clothes soon appeared, key 


HUMBLE HOPES 


107 


in hand, and went with her to the house, which was 
quite small, but prettily built and freshly painted. 
There was a tiny piazza with a casement window open- 
ing on it, and a little bay window in front. 

‘‘I built this house myself,’’ the young man volun- 
teered this information as he unlocked the door, ‘ ^ and 
I’ll say this much for it — there isn’t a piece of unsea- 
soned timber in it from garret to cellar. It’s well built, 
and there has only one family ever lived in it, and that’ s 
ourselves, and you know we’d be careful of our own.” 
They were in the little entry now, but he still continued 
talking, standing still and looking at Folly with a pair 
of good-humored blue eyes, and speaking in a frank, 
hearty tone ; ‘ ‘ We set up housekeeping here two years 
ago ; but I thought I’d like a little more room, and my 
wife, she wanted a nursery especially for the little fellow, 
and so I built the house yonder, and we’ve just moved 
in a week ago.” And with that he proceeded to con- 
duct Folly through the house. 

It was clean and fresh and quite convenient, though 
small and simple ; and when the young man told Folly 
that the rent was two hundred and twenty dollars a 
year. Folly immediately asked him to give her the re- 
fusal of the house, and told him they should be ready 
to move in the next month, if nothing unforeseen oc- 
curred. He was well pleased to secure so promising a 
tenant ; the business was soon concluded, and Folly set 
out on her way home thankful and satisfied, for the ex- 
perience of the day had taught her by degrees not to 
expect beauty or elegance in a house at two hundred 


108 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


dollars a year, and so she was not fretted at the sim- 
plicity of their new home, but tired, as she had never 
been in all her life before, with genuine hard work. 

It was good to get home to their own pretty parlor, 
with the soft light from the shaded droplight falling 
upon books and magazines, to see good pictures again 
after all the gaudy chromos which had tired her eyes 
that day ; quiet, neutral tints on walls and furniture, 
after the startling figures and crude combinations of 
colors which she had seen in such endless variety — best 
of all, to see her own dear lady mother, although she 
could not tell her as she wanted to, of the strange, be- 
wildering events of the day, of the important step she 
had taken, or of her own utter weariness of mind and 
body. 

Dinner was on the table, and Folly enjoyed it with 
the zest of a working woman, and soon felt greatly re- 
freshed. She succeeded by a running stream of small 
talk in diverting her mother from asking embarrassing 
questions, and as soon as dinner was over she escaped 
to her own room to change her walking dress. While 
dressing she considered seriously whether she would not 
better tell her mother this very evening of the rupture 
of her engagement, and of all the steps which she had 
taken in consequence of it. For her own part, she felt 
so free in her release from the humiliating position in 
which she had been for a month, so glad to be inde- 
pendent and to be doing her simple, honest duty, that 
she would have been glad to communicate all that was 
in her mind to her mother. Still it might shock and 


HUMBLE HOPES 


109 


distress her, she was still so weak. On the whole, 
Folly felt that it was safer to wait as long as she could, 
all the more because she hoped for some answer to her 
advertisement which would serve to relieve the situation 
of some of its difficulties. 

Callers came before she was ready to go downstairs, 
and when she went into the parlor she found Mr. and 
Mrs. Preston there, their kind neighbors, who frequently 
came in to spend an hour of the evening. 

Mrs. Kodnor was talking in her low, gentle voice to 
Mrs. Preston, and Folly was entertaining Mr. Preston, 
who thought her very charming, with a lively discussion 
of politics, of which she kept herself fairly well informed, 
when the door-bell rang again. Mary came in, a mo- 
ment after, and going to Folly, said in a low voice : 

‘ ^ Doctor Griffith wishes to see you in the hall. Miss 
Folly ; he says he will not come in as he is in a hurry. ’ ’ 

The color rose to Folly’s cheeks. What could Doctor 
Griffith want of her? she thought, as, excusing herself 
to Mr. Preston, she went out into the hall, closing the 
door after her. Doctor Griffith stood, hat in hand, wait- 
ing for her. 

‘ ‘ Good-evening, ’ ’ he said bowing, but not offering 
to shake hands. ‘Wou will excuse my interrupting 
you, in this way, Miss Kodnor ; I will only detain you 
a moment. It is a little matter of business of which I 
wish to speak to you. ’ ’ 

Folly replied that it was no interruption, wondering 
more than ever. There was a slightly awkward pause, 
in which the doctor seemed thinking how best to do his 


no 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


errand ; but in a minute more he looked straight at 
Folly with a genial smile ; and with a quick gesture, as 
if impatient with himself, he said : ‘ ‘ The fact is, I have 
got an impression in some way that you might possibly 
be willing to take a situation as teacher if you could 
find a suitable one. Am I right ? ’ ’ 

^‘Yes, quite right,’’ said Folly steadily. He knew 
it all, then, of course ; and yet he did not drop her en- 
tirely. 

‘ ‘ My cousin, Mrs. Professor Adams, is trying to find 
a young lady to come to her house every day and teach 
her three children. I am on my way there now, and I 
thought if you were willing I would give her your name, 
and she might call upon you at once if she has no one 
already in view.” 

‘‘You are very kind,” said Folly, the tears coming 
to her eyes. ‘ ‘ I am afraid Mrs. Adams would not be 
satisfied with me ; but if she is willing to try, I would 
do my best ; and I think I should improve if I tried 
hard. ’ ’ She spoke very humbly and very earnestly. 

Doctor Griffith looked down at her face, which had 
an expression to-night new to him — a sweet, subdued 
look, which he knew came out of suffering and self- 
conquest. 

‘ ‘ Then I may tell her you will be willing to teach 
the children ? ” he said, starting to go. 

“Yes, indeed; more than willing,” replied Folly. 

‘ ‘ And I thank you more than I can ever tell you. 
Doctor Griffith ; I know God sent you to help me to- 
night. ’ ’ And she held out her hand. 


HUMBLE HOPES 


111 


He took it in his with a strong, comforting grasp. 
^ ^ God is caring for you all the while, ’ ’ he said gently, 
looking into her face with that grave, direct look of his. 
‘ ^ He has been leading you by ways that you knew not ; 
but I have believed it would be to himself in the end. 
Am I right ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Yes,” was the answer fully and freely given. It 
was pure joy to Folly to speak at last of the new life in 
her soul. 

“I am very glad,” he said. And Folly knew by 
those few words, spoken as they were, that it was more 
than a passing satisfaction to him ; she felt sure that he 
had prayed for her. 

A moment more and he was gone. Folly went up to 
her room, and kneeling in the dark by her bed, thanked 
God for his care and for his goodness in sending her the 
very help she most needed in the needful time. 


CHAPTER XXI 


AN IMPARTIAL DISCUSSION 

I T was nearly nine o’clock when Doctor Griffith 
walked into the pleasant library of Mrs. Adams. 
It was a large room full of books and pictures, 
the furniture elegant, but of a plain, substantial sort. 
There was a handsome carved wood chimney piece, and 
a bright fire ol cannel coal burned in the grate. By a 
large library table, under the gaslight, Mrs. Adams was 
sitting with her work-basket, sewing and listening 
while the professor, in a great leather -covered easy- 
chair, was reading aloud from a number of the Con- 
temporary. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Adams was a beautiful woman, something less 
than forty years old, not merely with a beauty of 
feature, but with that of intellect and cultivation. She 
had clear eyes, which met yours with a calm, steadfast 
look, much like that which Folly had often noticed in 
her cousin. Doctor Griffith, and an expression at once 
firm and sweet. The professor was evidently some 
years older than his wife, a homely man with a vast 
deal of character in the irregular, rugged lines of his 
face, a pair of honest gray eyes, thin gray hair, and a 
smile of wonderful sweetness, which fairly illuminated 
his plain face. 

112 


AN IMPAKTIAL DISCUSSION 


113 


When Doctor Griffith came in, both looked heartily 
pleased to see him. The professor rising and putting 
down his magazine exclaimed: ^‘How are you, my 
boy? I’m exceedingly glad to see you,” and Mrs. 
Adams called out playfully : 

Why, if here isn’t Cousin Kobin a Bobbin ! What 
wind blew you to our door to-night ? We are getting 
out of patience with you lately ; you must be careful 
or I shall count you out entirely.” 

Out of what?” asked the young man, laying 
aside his great-coat, and taking a comfortable chair by 
the fireside with the air of feeling very much at home 
and of enjoying the sensation. 

‘‘Out of my good graces, and out of my list of 
stand-bys for faculty parties, and worst of all, out of 
my children’s favor.” 

‘ ‘ How are the children ? ’ ’ 

“Very well, or you might have heard from us. 
Harry wanted to know yesterday if Cousin Wobin had 
goned back to Jimminy, and expressed a hope that if 
you had you would get him another stable ; so you see 
you have fallen from your high estate of being valued 
for yourself alone.” 

“I see,” said Doctor Griffith laughing. “I’ll do 
my best to work my way up again. Have you found 
any one to teach the children yet, Mary ? ” 

“No, I can’t seem to hear of any one, that is, just 
the right one. Meanwhile the children are vegetating 
and forgetting all they ever knew — not that it will take 
very long to do that, however.” 

H 


114 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


‘‘I came up to-night on purpose to recommend a 
young lady to you.’’ 

‘‘Did you, indeed?” was the response. “I am 
sure that was very good of you. I only hope she may 
be the one I want. Who is it, Robert ? ” 

“ It is a Miss Rodnor.” ' 

‘ ‘ Rodnor, Rodnor, ’ ’ repeated Mrs. Adams with a puz- 
zled look. “ Where have I heard that name lately? ”• 

“ I used to know a Mr. Rodnor,” said the professor.j 
“He was a lawyer and an able man too. He died 
here a few years ago. Perhaps you knew of him, 
Mary?” 

“ This is his daughter,” put in Doctor Griffith. 

“ I know now,” said Mrs. Adams, “ what it was I 
had in mind ; but I am sure this cannot be the same 
Miss Rodnor. Mrs. Lester was here yesterday, and 
she spoke to me of what she said was the great sensa- 
tion in fashionable society just at present, the breaking 
of the engagement of a Miss Rodnor to a wealthy young 
gentleman, I forget his name, rather a dissipated fellow, 
she called him.” 

“ What else did she say about it ? ” asked her cousin 
quietly. 

“ What she said was far from flattering to this Miss 
Rodnor, although she had no very high opinion of the 
young man either. She said that according to report 
Miss Rodnor, who was a frivolous society girl, with but 
little means, had exerted herself to the utmost to at- 
tract the young man, solely for the sake of his wealth. 
She succeeded in bringing about the engagement, but 


AN IMPARTIAL DISCUSSION 


115 


he very soon discovered her motives and broke it at 
once, leaving her very much humiliated naturally. 
There was no one of her former acquaintances but re- 
garded her now with contempt. I was not especially 
interested in the ahair, and should have forgotten it 
but for your mentioning the name. But it cannot be 
that the Miss Rodnor you mention is the inglorious 
heroine of this affair ? ’ ’ 

‘ ^ I am afraid I must plead guilty for her, that is, as 
far as identity is concerned,’’ was the reply. The 
doctor’s voice was as calm as usual, but there was sup- 
pressed feeling in its tone. 

‘‘Why, then, Robert, what can possess you to rec- 
ommend Miss Rodnor to me as a teacher ? ’ ’ was the 
astonished question. 

‘ ‘ I supposed that your experience had taught you 
by this time, Mary, that it isn’t safe to believe quite 
half you hear,” said the doctor, without irritation but 
decidedly. 

‘ ‘ That is true, of course, ’ ’ she replied thoughtfully ; 
‘ ‘ but there must be some truth in such a story as this. 
It seems to be generally understood and undenied, and 
if less than half is true I’m afraid it’s too much for 
me. But tell me what has stirred you up to espouse 
the cause of Miss Rodnor ? What do you know about 
her, anyway ? ” 

“ I will tell you frankly all I know of her,” Doctor 
Griffith returned, “and you will of course rely upon 
me to ‘ nothing extenuate nor set down aught in mal- 
ice.’ I can hardly call myself a friend of Miss Rod- 


116 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


nor’s, but I have a great deal of sympathy and pity for 
the girl, who is, I believe, placed in a cruel and hu- 
miliating position through the malice and cowardice of 
an utterly unprincipled fellow.” 

‘‘Well, well, Kobert,” said the professor mildly, 
“ you are decidedly stirred up. I rather think it will 
do you good, though. Go on with your story ; I am 
getting interested. ’ ’ 

“ The first time I saw Miss Kodnor,” began the 
doctor, ‘ ‘ was last fall, not long after my return from 
Germany, at a lawn party. I was not introduced to 
her, but I noticed her as being not merely the most 
beautiful girl present, but as showing decided character 
in her face and manner. Not long afterward I was 
driving slowly with father up North Avenue when I 
noticed at a little distance ahead of us a young lady 
with a young man walking beside her, who was as 
plainly trying to make love to her as ever I saw a man. 
It was apparent in his whole bearing, while that she 
regarded him with little favor seemed to be as manifest 
in hers. As we passed them I saw to my surprise that 
it was the same young lady whom I had noticed at Mrs. 
Lawton’s, and that her escort was Neil Carter, a young 
lawyer whom I knew to be a worthless, dissipated fellow, 
but of a wealthy family. You must know the Carters, 
manufacturers, I believe. I was surprised that the 
girl should have anything to do with this fellow, but 
concluded that she did not know his character. 

“ I think it was a month later that I was called up 
one night — it was when my father was out of the city — 


Go on with your story ; I am getting interested. 








AN IMPARTIAL DISCUSSION 


117 


to attend a lady suffering from an attack of paralysis. 
I went to her and found a nice house on South Avenue, 
— the inmates evidently being people of culture and re- 
finement. The lady — she was fine looking, between 
fifty and sixty years old — was in a critical condition. 
I found she was a widow with one daughter, who was 
absent at a party. There being no one else who could 
go, I drove over for the daughter to Mr. Caxton’s. 
When Miss Kodnor appeared she proved to be, as you 
know, the young lady I had twice before noticed. It 
was a hard place for a while ; the girl was perfectly 
overcome, but I got her home, and after a while she 
calmed herself down and proved a capable, sensible 
nurse. Throughout her mother’s illness her conduct 
was admirable ; she was composed, trustworthy, and 
self-forgetful, and ready to take up the whole respon- 
sibility for the household with real courage. I found — 
you know physicians cannot help learning a great many 
family secrets — that they were really in straitened cir- 
cumstances, and the daughter had been teaching the 
children of the neighborhood, to help along. One cir- 
cumstance I noted, that fine flowers were sent every 
day to Miss Kodnor, and the card lying upon them I 
accidentally saw several times, and it was Neil Carter’s. 
I often found him at the door going or coming, but for 
some time I am sure Miss Kodnor did not see him. 
But that he was trying to make himself felt by every 
possible attention was evident and, as I thought, with 
little encouragement. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXII 


KINDLIER JUDGMENTS 

W EEKS passed by/’ continued Doctor Griffith, 
^^Mrs. Rodnor was getting better, and Miss 
Rodnor expected to re-open her httle school. 
I happened to hear in a call in the neighborhood that 
there was a new school near-by, and that Miss Rodnor 
would stand no chance whatever. After this I went for 
my last call at the Rodnors’ and accidentally overheard 
some words from Miss Rodnor which sounded to me as 
if she had taken some desperate step, not knowing how 
they were to come out of their embarrassments. It 
proved to be what I feared ; she had promised to marry 
this Xeil Carter, who had been trying by every means 
in his power for months to win her — that much I know 
from his partner, Buel. ’ ’ 

‘AVell, Robert,” his cousin interrupted him here, 
‘ ‘ how can you ever get over that fact ? A girl who 
would promise to marry a man she could not respect, 
for money, is certainly not exactly an admirable person 
to trust with the care of children.” 

‘ ‘ W ait a little, wait a little, Mary, ’ ’ said the profes- 
sor ; ‘ ‘ the girl was probably tempted in ways that you 
do not understand. ’ ’ 

‘ ^ That is true, ’ ’ said Doctor Griffith almost grate- 
118 


KINDLIER JUDGMENTS 


119 


fully. ^‘AVell, I must come to the end of this long 
story. At a party a month after the engagement was 
formed, according to my surmise, it was announced. 
Then and there this precious Neil Carter got so drunk 
that he disgraced himself pitifully, although only two or 
three people happened to notice him. The next day — 
three or four days ago, that was — the engagement was 
broken, by whom you can guess. But the report which 
you heard was diligently circulated by this same gal- 
lant gentleman, that he broke the engagement in dis- 
gust at the discovered motives of Miss Kodnor. Chiv- 
alrous youth, you perceive. The fact was, of course, 
that his disgraceful conduct brought her to a sense of 
what she was doing, and she broke from him at once, 
redeeming herself for her temporary weakness in great 
measure. Don’ t you think so, Mary ? ’ ’ 

It may be. I can hardly go so far as that ; still, it 
showed that she had some principle, ’ ’ was the moderate 
reply. 

‘‘You women are always hard on each other,” said 
the doctor grimly. “ Well, the next appearance of Miss 
Rodnor was on a house-hunting expedition. A friend, 
at whose house she called, told me that she was in 
search of a house at a very low rent, and that she also 
wanted a chance to teach. I have seen her to-night, 
and, Mary, she is a changed woman. She is a differ- 
ent being from the fashionable Miss Rodnor. She is 
humble and subdued, and ready to live on the sound 
basis of honest poverty now. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ And what of her qualifications for a teacher ? ’ ’ 


120 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


asked Mrs. Adams after a pause, in which the doctor 
had rejoiced to see the gentle expression come into her 
face, and perceived that his battle was half over. 

‘ ‘ Oh, she knows enough to teach children of their 
ages, ’ ’ said the professor. 

‘‘Justin ! ” exclaimed his wife reproachfully, “how 
can you ? I thought I convinced you last night that 
there is no greater responsibility than that of teaching 
little children, that it requires a person of especial abil- 
ity and cultivation to teach them as they should be 
taught, for if the foundation of their education 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, yes, ’ ’ broke in the professor with his rare 
smile. ‘ ‘ So you did convince me, Mary ; I forgot. I 
used to know it too. I guess it’s an old story, after all ; 
just as the twig is bent the tree’s inclined.” 

Here the doctor took up the word : “ To go back to 
your question — what are her qualifications for a teacher ? 
She is a thoroughly alive and womanly woman, full of 
bright, winning ways, those ways that always win 
children ; intelligent, educated at Mrs. Kalph’s school ; 
I should think fairly well read. And then she has 
taught a year. ’ ’ 

“Unsuccessfully, as it appears, ” began Mrs. Adams. 

“Hardly fair, Mary, hardly fair, ” said her husband. 

‘ ‘ W ait a minute, ’ ’ she retorted pleasantly ; “I am 
going on to say that she would probably do a great deal 
better now. But it is hardly likely, is it, Bobert, that 
she would know much of the newer theories of educa- 
tion ? I should like to have Harry taught by the kin- 
dergarten system.” 


KINDLIER JUDGMENTS 


121 


‘ ‘ Oh, well, you can take her down a load of your 
Froebel and Pestalozzi books, my dear ; and if she’s 
quick-witted she will get hold of it in a short time, ’ ’ said 
the professor, who was fully enlisted on Folly’s side. 

‘ ^ I think she could, Mary ; she told me she would 
try her very best to improve, ’ ’ said the doctor. 

‘‘Well, I think I shall have to go to see her to- 
morrow, although I must insist that I believe her being 
so remarkably pretty has a great deal to do with the 
sympathy which you and the professor have for her, ’ ’ 
said Mrs. Adams jokingly. 

‘ ‘ It may be so, ’ ’ said Doctor Griffith gravely ; ‘ ‘ but 
I had thought hitherto that it was simply the desire to 
help one who held up hands for help to live on a higher 
plane. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I understand, my dear boy, ’ ’ said his cousin gently. 
“You must not misunderstand me ; I was only in fun. 
I feel strongly interested in the girl myself, and I see that 
she must be helped now, and by us, and I have no doubt 
she will prove herself worthy of our interest if the right 
influence is around her. What is her name, Robert ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “They call her a 
most ridiculous pet name, ‘Folly,’ I never heard her 
called anything else. ’ ’ 

“ Allegorical, slightly, isn’t it? ” asked the professor 
playfully. 

And his wife said energetically : “ Well, if she has a 
Christian name we won’t call her Miss Folly ; it is quite 
too suggestive. But there is one thing, if you won’t be 
offended, Robert, that I would like to speak of. ’ ’ 


122 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


rather think you’re safe. Say on,” said the 
doctor good-humoredly. 

We want to help the girl in the wisest way, and I 
think we ought to carefully avoid ^ rushing her, ’ if you 
will allow the expression. ’ ’ 

‘‘I catch the idea, I think,” said the doctor iron- 
ically ; ^ ^ you mean taking her up in an over-sympa- 
thetic spirit and making much of her. ’ ’ 

^ ‘ Precisely. The fact is, she has been living a wTetch- 
edly false life, and has done very wrong things, and 
now she repents of it. But she ought not for that 
reason be made a heroine and a martyr of. She ought 
to repent, and I think sackcloth and ashes would be 
becoming for some time. My idea would be to leave 
the girl in a good degree of quietness ; not allow her to 
feel that she is despised or uncared for, and let her know 
that we are interested in her ; but for the rest, let her 
‘ work out her salvation, ’ I mean the salvation of her 
character. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She is right, Kobert, ’ ’ said the professor. 

‘‘Yes, I believe she is,” said Griffith after a pause. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


SPIRIT-LEVELING 

A MONTH later we look in upon the Rodnors in 
their new home in Crawford Street. It has been a 
busy month to Folly, full of new cares and under- 
takings. The morning after Doctor Griffith’ s call Mrs. 
Adams went to see her, and the result was that she was 
engaged to teach the three children as soon as the mov- 
ing should be accomplished. They agreed that Folly 
should diligently study into Froebel’s system of kinder- 
garten teaching, and other educational improvements in 
which Mrs. Adams was interested. Folly felt a little in 
awe of Mrs. Adams. She was of different type from 
any of her acquaintances in fashionable society ; ele- 
gantly dressed and distinguished looking, with a digni- 
fied and yet gracious manner, she had also the com- 
manding influence of intellect and religious earnest- 
ness. 

Folly felt in her presence as if suddenly transported 
into highly bracing air in which she was at some diffi- 
culty to breathe freely. Mrs. Adams expressed her 
desires with regard to the education of her children very 
quietly, but in a way which showed Folly plainly that 
she expected them to be carried out, and that she never 
herself lost sight of the details of each child’ s progress. 

123 


124 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


In Mrs. Adams’ schoolroom there would evidently be 
none of the slipshod, half-way teaching to which Folly 
had become accustomed. The recollection of that teach- 
ing made the girl timid as she saw over against it this 
high standard of requirement, and perceived that only 
a thoroughly aroused intellect and untiring self-devotion 
could make a good teacher in Mrs. Adams’ sight. She 
told Mrs. Adams frankly of how she felt, how conscious 
of her own unfitness, and how fearful that she might 
fail, whereupon that lady replied with a bright smile 
that she herself had a large amount of faith in her suc- 
cess. Indeed, Mrs. Adams was so pleased with Folly, 
so charmed with her frank and unaffected manner, that 
she laughed to herself on her way home to find how 
thoroughly she was now in sympathy with the doctor. 

‘ ‘ I really believe, ’ ’ she told the professor, ‘ ‘ I should 
have engaged her if she had declared open war upon 
Froebel ! There is education in just looking at her ; 
one of those transparent, spirituelle faces — you know the 
kind — in which you can read every emotion ; and there 
is strength and force in it too. You would know now 
by just one look that she had conquered temptation in 
some form ; there is a pure, high look in her eyes. 
Truly, Justin, she is like that picture of the unknown 
saint we like so much, but don’t tell Kobert I said 
so.” 

As soon as this matter was settled Folly told her 
mother the whole story of the experiences of that long 
week. The two cried and rejoiced together ; it was un- 
speakable relief to Folly to hide her head on her moth- 


SPIRIT-LEVELING 


125 


er’s breast and pour out all her peut-up feelings to one 
who understood every varying shade of her experience, 
because she knew her child so well. On the whole, 
Mrs. Rodnor found little to regret in their altered pros- 
pects. If Folly had not loved Neil Carter, why it 
would have been death in life to have had her married 
to him, and everything seemed smoothed out and simpli- 
fied before them now. Perhaps there was a trace of 
disappointment to her motherly pride at the thought of 
Folly’s withdrawing from social life and giving up for- 
ever her brilliant role as a society belle ;• but this feeling 
was soon lost in the joy of knowing that her child had 
won pure happiness of heart, the secret of abiding 
peace. 

Folly had contrived well ; coming together, as her 
revelations did, there was no unfavorable shock to her 
mother. She seemed to grow stronger and better with 
the demand for exertion and action, and was able to 
help Folly and Mary, their faithful servant, through all 
the tedious details of moving. 

Together they planned how best to lay out a small 
sum of money, which they agreed to devote to that pur- 
pose, in beautifying their new home, and both found 
genuine enjoyment in the pretty effects which they were 
able to make. Mr. Joyce, their landlord, cheerfully 
consented to tint the walls of the house freshly. Folly 
herself stood over the workmen and chose the tints she 
wanted, producing really artistic effects at small cost. 
She took especial pride in the decoration and fittings of 
the little parlor or library. The walls were of a warm 


126 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


shade of green ; the wooden mantel shelf, with its sorry 
imitation of marble, was soon covered by Folly’s skillful 
fingers with dark green drapery ; a portiere of heavy 
damask, ‘ ‘ the remains of former grandeur, ’ ’ F oily said, 
hung in the doorw^ay between the parlor and dining 
room, the door being taken from its hinges and banished 
to the attic. Plain, low walnut shelves, for which they 
had exchanged their elaborate bookcases, filled with 
tempting rows of books, lined nearly all the walls. They 
had sold their massive sideboard and some other large 
pieces, and so to Folly’s great delight they were able to 
replace the faded green rep furniture with pretty chairs 
of graceful and modern design. 

Their pictures and bric-a-brac completed a very har- 
monious and even elegant little parlor, and the evening 
that it was pronounced in order. Folly, curling catlike 
in a comfortable easy-chair, said with a mischievous 
smile : 

‘ ‘ Honest poverty isn’ t so bad after all. Is it, mam- 
ma? ” 

They had just come from their cozy dinner table in 
the little, daintily-equipped dining room. They were 
fairly settled now, and just ready to begin to live, Mrs. 
Kodnor said. 

‘ ‘ Shall you begin teaching to-morrowq Florence ? ’ ’ 
she asked, looking up from her knitting. 

‘‘Yes,” was the reply, “I am rested now, and in a 
hurry to begin. I know it has been inconvenient to 
Mrs. Adams to wait so long for me, and I sent word 
this morning that I would be there to-morrow. ’ ’ 


SPIRIT-LEVELING 


.127 


Just then the bell rang, and two ladies were ushered 
into the room by Mary. Folly and Mrs. Kodnor rose 
and greeted them cordially ; they were next-door neigh- 
bors, the Misses Ross, and they had shown them many 
little kindnesses during the process of getting settled. 

They were true ladies, refined and well educated, as 
could be seen at once by their manner which, at the 
same time, was as different as possible from the manner 
of their hostesses, and perhaps they felt it so, for they 
were at first slightly ill at ease, but Folly knew how to 
overcome this by her bright, merry talk and pleasant 
way. After chatting pleasantly for twenty minutes or 
more. Miss Ross, looking at the French clock on the 
mantel, said to her sister : 

‘‘Well, Fanny, we must be going now.’’ 

“ Why must you go so early?” said Folly; “it is 
not half-past seven. I wish you would stay ; this is our 
first neighborhood visit in due form. Mrs. Joyce has 
run over a dozen times to bring a pitcher of hot coffee, 
or some potatoes, or to show me George’s new tooth, 
and you yourself, you know. Miss Ross, did come at 
eight o’clock one morning to bring me some carpet 
tacks, and Miss Fanny came to bring a screw-driver, 
but those were not really calls, and I like this so much 
I want to make the most of it. ’ ’ 

“I wish we could stay longer,” replied Miss Ross 
laughing, ‘ ‘ but you see it is our prayer-meeting night, 
and we only stopped in for a little while on our way to 
meeting. ’ ’ 

“Where is your church ? ” asked Folly. 


128 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


‘ ^ Only a little way from here, ’ ’ replied Miss Fanny 
and, after giving the name which showed that the de- 
nomination was the same as Doctor Hale’s, she added, 
‘ ‘ we have the very nicest minister in the city. Miss 
Kodnor. I wish you would go with us some day and 
hear him preach. ’ ’ 

‘‘Can’t I go with you to-night? ” asked Folly. 

‘ ‘ Why, yes, of course you can, ’ ’ they both replied 
eagerly. 

“You see,” Folly said, as she started to go upstairs 
and get ready, “I haven’t got acquainted in this neigh- 
borhood yet. We have been here only over one Sun- 
day, and that day I was nearly ill I was so tired, but I 
want to belong to some church near by. I do not care 
to go to Doctor Hale’s from here, and perhaps this may 
be the place for me. ’ ’ 

Both sisters were much pleased at this, for they had 
had hope of finding in Folly a recruit for their church, 
and very soon the three started on their way to meet- 
ing. 

They were a little late, and the cheerful lecture room 
was nearly filled when they went in, and a hymn was 
being sung with great fervor. 

It happened on the way that Miss Boss had mentioned 
the fact that their work kept them from calling in the 
daytime, and in reply to her unsuspecting question, 
Folly learned that the two sisters worked in the estab- 
lishment of the dressmaker whom she had formerly em- 
ployed. Folly had not made such rapid progress in 
learning larger Christian sympathies that this bit of in- 


SPIRIT-LEVELING 


129 


formation did not make her wince. Indeed, for a mo- 
ment she felt almost indignant, and as if she had been 
cheated into identifying herself with those beneath her. 
She had never regarded Mrs. Baker, the dressmaker, as 
one of her own kind exactly. Indeed, she had never 
thought anything about the matter ; she needed dresses 
made, and of course there must be dressmakers, and 
Mrs. Baker was a good one, and that was all. But 
now she was forsooth to associate, not with those of Mrs. 
Baker’s position even, but with her two apprentices — 
‘‘hands,” wasn’t that the word? Before anything 
more was said they reached the church, and it was feel- 
ing thus out of tune and with disagreeable sensations 
uppermost in mind that Folly took her seat in the 
prayer meeting. 

As she bowed her head in the prayer which followed 
the hymn, the thought in her mind was, “ A carpenter’s 
family on one side and two dressmakers’ apprentices 
on the other for my associates — what would ‘ they ’ 
say?” 

Her cheeks burned uncomfortably, and she felt a 
long way removed from the spirit of the earnest prayer 
which Mr. McDonald, the pastor, was offering. 

‘ ‘ After this, ’ ’ she thought, ‘ ‘ there will be a prosy 
old deacon ; he will pray ten minutes and talk fifteen, 
and then another will do the same, and then some aged 
sister will speak so that nobody can hear her, and so it 
will go on, and I wish I hadn’t come. I’m not fit to — 
I want to get by myself and fight this terrible feeling 
out.” 

I 


130 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


But the next hymn that was sung stirred a gentle 
feeling, and brought tears to Folly’s eyes. 

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide, 

The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide. 

Nothing could have gone more directly to her heart 
just then than those familiar words. 

‘‘I can’t fight it out,” she thought now, ‘‘and I 
won’t try. I know how hard and needless it is. I 
will try instead to open all my heart to Christ ; I think 
he will fill it with his own grace and peace. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXIV 


MRS. ADAMS MAKES A DISCOVERY 

F olly listened now to the helpful but searching 
words of the pastor and forgot to dread the prosy 
deacon who was not forthcoming. There were no 
uncomfortable pauses in this meeting, but the instant 
the last note of a hymn was sung an old man, rather 
rough in his clothing and uncultivated in his speech, 
stood up and spoke. There had been a time in Folly’s 
life when the peculiarities in grammar and pronuncia- 
tion of this man would have been the only thing which 
she would have noticed, and when they would have 
struck her as perfectly ludicrous. Now, although a 
smile would come, she enjoyed the simple, heartfelt 
words he uttered, and felt that they had a lesson for her. 

‘ ‘ My bretherin, ’ ’ he said earnestly as he was near- 
ing the end of his remarks, ‘ ‘ we don’ t git much com- 
fort nor joy nor satisfaction out of trying to work for 
the Lord Jesus at the halves, and the prayer of my 
heart is with the psalmist, ‘ Unite my heart to fear thy 
name.’ I don’t know whether I’ve got the right of it 
or not — I ain’t a book-learned man, and I have to do 
most of my thinking while I’m at my work, as you all 
know, — ^but it seems to me that what he meant by that 
is something like this : there’s ever so many different 

131 


132 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


voices in our hearts ; one speaks for pride, one for self- 
ishness, one for worldly enjoyments, one for makin’ to 
ourselves idols out of them that’s dear to us, and there’s 
others that speak for God and for the Saviour and for 
right living. Well, it’s most as if there was a war 
between the different voices — rebellion — something of 
that sort, and what I want is to have my whole heart 
brought into subjection to the Master. Ain’t that it? 
Unite my heart, have an end to the war — the spirit 
lusting against the flesh and the flesh against the spirit, 
— something like having peace declared between the 
North and the South after our war. That’s like con- 
version. The outbroken rebellion was over, but it 
sometimes seems as if the hardest task was to git recon- 
structed. And so it is in my sinful heart. I have 
declared peace with God, but there’s the leavin’ s of the 
old nature there yet, and sometimes it seems as if I 
wasn’t making much headway against it. But, blessed 
be his name, he never gits out of patience with me, and 
I’m agoin’ to try and serve him better,” and the old 
man’s voice faltered with suppressed feeling. 

Brief hymns and prayers followed, but Folly thought 
of nothing but what that old man had said. ^ Work- 
ing for Jesus at the halves,’ that is wdiat I tried so 
long, and now I know I am in danger of it again,” 
and with a great effort of her whole soul in prayer 
Folly threw herself in faith upon Him who is able to 
save unto the uttermost. It was an hour of renewed 
consecration to her, hardly less important in her experi- 
ence than the hour of her conversion. 


MBS. ADAMS MAKES A DISCOVERY 133 


Both her companions spoke, earnestly and simply, in 
a way which made Folly bitterly ashamed of her feel- 
ings of an hour ago. Who am I ? what am I ? she 
thought, ‘ ‘ to hold myself above women like these ; they 
are as far beyond me in Christian experience and in 
true character as the moon is brighter than the stars.’’ 

Just before the meeting was out Folly herself arose 
and spoke. At first the strange sensation of standing 
alone in a large meeting to speak of her own hope and 
faith, the perception that curious and wondering eyes 
were upon her, the sound of her own voice, nearly 
robbed her of self-control, and she could scarcely be 
heard, but she soon forgot all these things, and her 
voice grew sweet and firm as she told very briefly her 
own experience, her nominal church -membership, her 
conversion, her determination to work now for Christ. 
She offered herself for membership to this church, and 
there was not a person in the room who was not ready 
to take her hand in a cordial welcoming grasp. 

AVhen the meeting broke up the pastor and many 
others, among them to her surprise Mrs. Adams, bring- 
ing the professor with her, came to her and spoke very 
kindly, and poor Folly felt for the first time the strength- 
ening power of Christian fellowship. Her life had 
been so apart from the life of earnest religious endeavor 
that she had not, even since her conversion, thought 
particularly of her duties to others and of the require- 
ment of work as well as love. But a new life had be- 
gun for her now ; she was welcomed into a working 
church where there was much to be done, and where all 


134 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


were expected to do their part. It was a revelation to 
Folly. She looked back upon Doctor Hale and his 
church and wondered that the two churches bore the 
same name and professed the same faith. 

The next morning it was mild and springlike, one of 
those days which come now and then in March to justify 
its claims to being called a spring month. Folly started 
for her new work at Professor Adams’ . It had given 
her great satisfaction to find that he and his wife were 
members, and earnest working members, of the church 
which she had now chosen as her own. Mrs. Adams 
was also much pleased that Folly had declared her 
desire to join their church, and her liking for the girl 
had been deepened by her words in the meeting. 

Her greeting was exceedingly cordial, almost affec- 
tionate, and Folly felt that her footing in that home 
was to be that of a friend and perhaps of one confided 
in and loved. The children were in a large, pleasant 
room upstairs, half nursery, half schoolroom. They 
had stationed themselves with great appearance of order 
around a low table in expectancy of the arrival of the 
‘^new teacher.” When their mother appeared with 
Folly, Harry, the youngest, jumped up from his little 
chair, ran and took hold of his mother’s hand, prefer- 
ring to look at Folly from that vantage ground. He 
was satisfied with his survey, for after a little pause he 
said in a shy way to his mother : 

Mamma, isn’t that new teacher a splendid lady ! ” 

They all laughed merrily at this and Folly bending 
to give the little fellow a kiss, whispered : 


MRS. ADAMS MAKES A DISCOVERY 135 


‘ ‘ She thinks you are a splendid boy. ’ ’ 

The other children were girls, a few years older than 
Harry — Bertha seven and Marian nine. They were 
quaint and original children, carefully trained and 
evenly developed, loving books but loving play, and 
playing hard and noisily too. 

Folly soon learned from their mother the state of the 
girls’ progress in their studies and together they dis- 
cussed the practical carrying out of the kindergarten 
system with Harry. Folly had been carefully studying 
this in the evenings of the month just passed. Mrs. 
Adams spent the whole morning in the schoolroom and 
they drew up a programme of each morning’s work. 
Everything had been clearly and systematically ar- 
ranged, and a good beginning at recitations made when 
Folly left for home at twelve o’clock. 

She felt happy and full of interest in her work and 
in the children, and as she walked the pleasant mile 
between Mrs. Adams’ home and her own, her whole 
heart went up in gratefulness to her heavenly Father, 
who was making all things work together for her good. 

She resolved that she would make this teaching which 
she had undertaken a conscientious, thoroughgoing 
work ; that she would slight nothing but give her heart 
and mind faithfully to it, doing it not with eye-service, 
but as to the Lord and not unto men. Would not that 
be the best way in which to show gratitude for her 
Father’s care in sending it to her? 

In the weeks that followed, although there were dis- 
couraging days, days when she felt the old distaste for 


136 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


the monotony of teaching small lessons to small chil- 
dren, and times of physical weariness which made the 
long walk irksome and the morning hours seem very 
long, Folly never wavered from this resolution, never 
relaxed her faithfulness, never lost her patience. 

Her bright, merry ways fascinated the children, their 
school became a real delight to them, and their love for 
Miss Florence, as they called her, almost amounted to 
adoration. Folly had a clear and fairly trained mind 
and a good gift of imparting, and in those spring weeks 
she developed fast into a really admirable teacher. 

Both the professor and Mrs. Adams were enthusiastic 
in their praise and liking of her. 

‘‘Kobert,’’ said Mrs. Adams to Doctor Griffith, 
stepping into his office one afternoon as she passed it, 
‘ ‘ Florence Bodnor is a genius ; you builded better than 
you knew.” 

‘‘No, I didn’t, begging your pardon,” was the re- 
sponse, as the doctor looked up at her with a peculiarly 
bright smile. ‘ ‘ Give me credit for once for doing a 
good thing. I deserve it, honestly. I saw what was 
in her from the first time. ’ ’ 

“Perhaps you did, I’m willing to acknowledge it,” 
she replied pleasantly and continued, “ it is a fact that 
my children were never so well taught and never so 
happy in school as now, and I really look forward my- 
self every morning to the time of Miss Florence’s com- 
ing. It is one of the pleasantest happenings in my 
day.” 

‘ ‘ I can believe that, Mary. ’ ’ The smile was gone 



“ ‘ Kobert,’ said Mrs. Adams, ‘ j’ou builded better than you knew.’ ” 

Page 136. 







MES. ADAMS MAKES A DISCOVERY 137 


now and in its place a grave, half -sad expression had 
come over her cousin’s face. 

^ ‘ Why, Eohert ! ’ ’ she exclaimed, her eyes resting 
full upon him. There was something about him which 
she had never felt before and a new perception was 
dawning upon her. 

At that moment the office door opened and a pallid, 
poorly dressed woman, holding a sickly baby, came in. 
Doctor Griffith had risen. There was a slight flush 
upon his cheek as he attended his cousin to the door 
and bade her good-bye with his usual careful courtesy. 

Out upon the street again, as she walked quickly 
along, Mrs. Adams repeated over and over to herself : 

‘ ‘ How stupid ! How perfectly stupid I have been ! 
Well ! How is any one to understand a man like him ? 
I should have thought of it in a moment of any other 
man, when he took such pains to have me engage her, 
but the shadow of such a thought seemed out of place, 
the suggestion of it would have been impossible with 
him ; he is always taking up people who need help and 
doing beautiful things for them, and it seemed like all 
the rest. But, of course, it would be so. The girl is 
so different from any other I know. I believe I should 
be sincerely glad, but — wait a minute,” she checked 
herself, and like a wise woman began to think whether 
there had ever been the slightest indication that Folly 
was interested in the doctor. ^ ‘ Let me see, has she 
ever mentioned him ? ever inquired about him ? I do 
not think she ever has. It cannot be that she ever sees 
him. He told me the other day that he had never 


138 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


been on the street where they live now. What is the 
poor fellow waiting for ? That look on his face went 
straight to my heart ! ’ ’ 

And with a woman’s instinct for a love affair, and 
sympathy for a man whom she suspects to be in love, 
Mrs. Adams, as she threaded her way through the busy 
crowd that afternoon, devised ways and means by 
which the course of Doctor Griffith’s love should be 
made to run smooth. 

On reaching home she went into the library, which 
was empty, and sat down in the twilight by the fire 
which was glowing darkly and burning low. She un- 
tied her bonnet, but sat without removing it, looking at 
the fire, thinking earnestly. 

‘‘No, I am all wrong, so far,” she said to herself. 

‘ ‘ There is nothing for me to do in this matter. It is 
not for me to touch. I believe Kobert loves the girl, 
and I believe she is worthy of his love, but the time for 
its manifestation is not yet. Three months ago she was 
engaged to be married to a profligate, worthless man. 
There is a miserable incongruity in associating her with 
Eobert now. It would hurt them both. People would 
think that he had influenced her to break from her 
engagement, and that all her sacrifice was half a sham. 
It might even seem so to herself. Besides, she is de- 
veloping nobly now, and I believe she is where God 
wants her. She needs a year more of patient work 
before she thinks of such a thing as this. I would not 
hinder them if they love one another ; it is the gift of 
God, and I have no right to intermeddle ; but I believe 


MRS. ADAMS MAKES A DISCOVERY 189 


Florence’s strength is in quietness now, and I believe 
Robert feels it so. He is a wise, brave man.” 

She heard a step in the room approaching her chair. 
‘ ‘ Is that you, dear ? ’ ’ she asked, not turning her 
head, but holding out her hand. ‘ ‘ I am thinking, 
Justin ; sit down here. I am going to tell you, no one 
else. I have seen Robert this afternoon, and I’m quite 
sure that he cares a great deal for Florence. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well,” said the professor quickly, “so do I.” 

‘ ‘ I mean he loves her. ’ ’ 

There was a little silence in the darkening room, then 
the professor said : “ I am not surprised, but I hope she 
will not know it just now. ” 

“Justin! You are really wonderful for a man,” 
exclaimed his wife. ‘ ‘ I supposed I should have to 
argue with you some time before you would see that in 
its true light. It took me from the doctor’s office clear 
home to see it, and I a woman too I Oh, but you are 
a wise man. Professor Adams ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Because I agree with you ? ’ ’ said the professor 
laughing, as the maid came into the room and lighted 
the gas. 


CHAPTEK XXV 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 

I T must not be supposed that the disappearance of 
Florence Kodnor from fashionable society failed to 
cause a sensation or was unnoticed or unregretted. 
While the injurious reports circulated by Xeil Carter 
at first obtained credit everywhere, and condemnation 
of Folly was general, an inevitable reaction followed in 
a few weeks. 

Her old acquaintances began to miss her and to think 
longingly of her pretty looks and ways ; the story of 
Xeil’s intoxication at Mr. Stanley’s party got abroad ; 
furthermore, there was a romantic interest attached to 
Folly’s withdrawal from social life and to the mystery 
of her present whereabouts. In short, she became the 
favored theme of conjecture and of comment and some 
of her friends determined to ‘Hook her up,” partly 
from curiosity, partly from genuine interest. 

Accordingly, evening after evening witnessed the 
strange sight of certain elegantly dressed, elegantly 
gloved, elegantly blase young gentlemen making their 
way, with an air of mild surprise at the incongruity of 
their position, into the plebeian precincts of Crawford 
Street. 

Every pleasant afternoon, the dw^ellers across the 
140 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


141 


street and on either side of number sixteen looked with 
awe and admiration, through the stiffly starched Not- 
tingham curtains of their front parlor windows, at 
glass-fronted coupes with liveried coachmen, drawing 
up in front of the Rodnors’ gate. They caught bewil- 
dering glimpses of beautiful women, dressed in silk 
and velvet and rich furs, passing up the little strip of 
plank walk, no better than their own, and disappearing 
behind the front door of that small and in no way re- 
markable house. They could tell afterward of how the 
coachmen looked superciliously around, of how impa- 
tient they would get before the ladies reappeared, of 
how they drove their pawing horses up and down the 
short street, of how at last the front door opened again 
and those magnificent ladies stood for a moment on the 
steps with Miss Rodnor, chatting familiarly, and cer- 
tainly they all kissed her when they WTnt aw^ay. It 
made a golden age for Crawford Street, this revival of 
fashionable interest in Folly Rodnor, but it did not last 
long. After a few weeks, the number of these calls 
dwindled, as it was found that Folly was not to be led 
back to the old life, and gradually it w^as noticed that 
only two or three carriage callers ever visited num- 
ber sixteen, and these only at long intervals. So 
Crawford Street relapsed into its former dullness. 

One of the friends who persisted — she chanced to be 
the recipient of Jack Buel’s languid and semi -ironical 
devotion — spoke on this wise to that gentleman, who 
was paying her a visit the evening after she had first 
called upon Folly : 


142 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


“It was certainly the strangest, and Vyb a good 
mind to say the pleasantest, call I ever made in my 
life. In the first place, I was so utterly disappointed 
in the house. It is a small, common -looking house 
enough on the outside, like all the rest on the street ; 
but when I went into the parlor I was amazed. It is 
a really lovely little room, most artistic, and with quite 
an air, don’t you know. AVhy, it’s any amount pleas- 
anter than their parlor was when they lived on the 
avenue. It has a hard wood floor and a good rug, just 
such a parlor as I should like myself. ’ ’ 

“I will go and see it immediately,” said her com- 
panion with the utmost gravity. A blush and a prettily 
shocked expression showed that this remark was not lost 
on the girl, but she merely replied : “ Please let me go 
on and tell you about Folly. You put me out so when 
you interrupt me.” 

“ By all means go on. She appeared, I suppose, in 
the role of the interesting penitent. Does she wear a 
kind of penitential costume ? I’ll venture to say it’s 
becoming if she does.” 

“ I wish you weren’t so sarcastic. Jack. You don’t 
appreciate or understand Folly the least bit.” 

“ Oh, yes, Lou, I do. I have always said she was 
a magnificent creature, and I never was so sure of it 
as I’ve been since she shipped Neil Carter. I declare 
he is the most unmitigated puppy I ever saw in my life, 
if you will allow so strong an expression. I don’t know 
whether you have heard of it, but I’ve quit the office 
altogether and expect to do business on my own ac- 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


143 


count after this. I guess .Neil will be able to manage 
all the practice he’ll get alone.” 

I’m glad you have done that. I hate to have any 
of my friends associate with him since he has behaved 
so about Folly. How Celia Caxton can endure him and 
receive his attentions I don’t see. But I must tell you 
about my call. In the first place, my friend, Folly’s 
penitential costume consisted of a handsome blue silk 
dress, one that she used to wear to make calls in, and 
she wore a lot of white chiflbn about the neck, just as 
she used to, and I certainly never saw her look so pretty 
or so happy in her life. She was just as merry and 
bright as she used to be, but instead of that hard, forced 
gayety that there used to be about her sometimes, there 
was a gentleness and sweetness, something so different, 
I can’t tell you. I felt as if she was the happiest per- 
son I ever saw, and really and truly I half envied her. 
She told me just what you supposed about her engage- 
ment, that she had broken it herself on account partly 
of Neil’s performance that night at Mr. Stanley’s ; but 
she threw very little blame upon him, after all, less 
than I should. She said it was her own fault in the 
first place, that she had never loved him, and declared 
that she deserved the disgrace that had come upon her 
and intended to bear it patiently. Then I told her that 
all her real friends were ready to forget all about the 
matter and how we hoped she would come back into 
society. But she said this was utterly out of the ques- 
tion, that she should not go into any society whatever 
at present, and really, I suppose, it is in better taste for 


144 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


her not to. But then I proposed that you and I should 
come and bring some other gentleman and have a quiet 
little whist party there at her house some evening every 
week ; no one need hear about it and it would keep her 
from being so lonely. I never was so surprised, — and 
yet she managed it so that it wasn’t embarrassing at all, 
which was doing a good deal, I thought, — for what do 
you think ? She told me that she did not expect to 
play cards any more, ever ! I asked her if she did 
not intend to dance, and it came out then that she has 
made up her mind to give up everything — theatre, 
dancing, cards, wine, everything.” 

‘ ‘ I heard a rumor that she was setting up a little in 
the religious line.” 

Please don’t. Jack ; it hurts me to have you speak 
so. There is not one atom of cant or hypocrisy about 
her. She told me of that night, — no, I can’t tell it to 
you; you would not understand. I wonder she thought 
me worthy of hearing it. But the fact is. Jack, Folly 
Bodnor is a Christian, and not a half-Avay one either, 
and she is trying to live in the way she thinks is right, 
and I’m not at all sure that she is mistaken about it.” 

‘‘Why, of course, my dear girl,” returned Jack 
Buel coolly, ‘ ‘ if you take the thing on the highest 
moral ground, there isn’t much to be said in defense of 
those very pleasant amusements, though the best of 
those who go into the things don’t know it and don’t 
want to. Since I have known enough to look at things 
as they are, apart from the influence of prejudice and 
habit, I have never pretended to say that I considered 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


145 


fashionable life purifying or elevating in any way. I 
simply say that I rather enjoy it and am willing to 
subject myself to its wear and tear. I know I’m the 
worse for it, I know you are, and my observation is, 
that the more people enjoy it, the worse is the effect 
upon them. Folly Rodnor, for instance, was an enthu- 
siastic, intense kind of girl ; she became completely 
fascinated with fashionable life, and the consequence 
was, she only just escaped shipwreck. I think she does 
perfectly right, if she has placed herself upon the basis 
of a Christian life, to utterly renounce the whole para- 
phernalia of fashionable society. There is no middle 
course that I can see for a girl who deals honestly with 
herself, or a man either, professing religious dedication.” 

Why, Jack, what do you mean ? Don’t you think 
any of us society girls are Christians ? And if you think 
fashionable life is so bad, why do you keep on in it ? ” 

‘‘ Let me answer your first question first. Certainly 
I think several of the young ladies with whom I drink 
champagne, dance, play cards, and go to the theatre, 
are Christians, but I think if the salvation of the world 
were left in their hands, it would go on more slowly 
than it does now. I believe there is something in the 
New Testament like this : ‘Ye cannot serve God and 
mammon.’ There is immense knowledge of human 
nature in that short, uncompromising sentence. I 
made up my mind that it was true long ago, when I 
was a college boy, in fact, and chose mammon out and 
out. I saw I’d got to do one or the other.” 

“ Oh, Jack ! ” There were tears in the girl’s voice. 

K 


146 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HEKSELF 


“ I know it sounds hard, but a man is not less a man 
for being honest with himself. Then take your own 
case. I confess I don’t know whether you call yourself 
a Christian or not, I mean in the private, personal sense 
of the word. You are a very nice girl, I am sure of 
that, and you play an excellent game of whist and are 
an admirable dancer, but in all the time that I have 
known you in society, there has never been a reasonable 
chance for you to show^ any religious feeling. There 
probably would not be if we danced for half a century. 
That matter is simply counted out. Supposing you to 
be a Christian, as long as you are in the whirl of fash- 
ionable society is not your opportunity for the exercise 
and development of that life which is in you reduced to 
the very smallest ? ’ ’ 

She nodded her head without speaking. 

'‘‘You think I’m arguing on the wrong side of the 
case ; well, a lawyer has to do that once in a while. 
I’m arguing against myself, of course. As you very 
naturally ask, if I think it so bad, why do I live on in 
this same fashionable world? Well, the answer is half 
given already ; I chose it years ago. I knew there was 
a better way, but I turned my back to that. It nearly 
broke my mother’s heart too. But the time has gone 
now, you see ; I have my choice. However, as you 
say, Miss Kodnor is not so much mistaken in giving us 
all the go-by. All the same, we shall have a pretty 
good time of life in our own way, sha’n’t Ave? ” 

“ I’m afraid not. Jack ; it can never be the same to 
me again,” Avas the sober reply. 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


147 


It never was. If the young lawyer had known how 
effective his argument was going to be, with Folly’s 
changed life behind it, he would not have spoken out 
as he did, for he had no desire to turn this girl to a 
different life. He had begun the argument idly, and 
had gone on, he hardly knew why. Some latent con- 
victions of truth and right, some inherited ‘‘Puritani- 
cal” predilections, had awakened within him and had 
led him along forgotten ways. But the seed sown by 
her friend, and thus unexpectedly fostered by a man 
who had never spoken an earnest word to her before, 
found good ground in the young heart and one more 
pure, Christian life was the result, a life beneficent, 
beautiful, and deeply happy, not hard and ascetic, but 
full of warm, human interest, enjoyment, and helpful- 
ness. Jack Buel had not known it, but all that had 
kept his liking for this girl from becoming love had 
been the absence of earnestness of religious purpose in 
her character as far as he had seen it ; for, like many 
another man, he wanted the woman whom he chose for 
his wife to be far better than himself. In his heart, in 
spite of all the distorting, perverting influences of the 
careless life he had chosen, one woman had always kept 
her place as his ideal, a noble Christian woman, his 
mother, who had always prayed for him. Uncon- 
sciously to himself, this presence in his heart had kept 
him from any thought of marriage with the worldly, 
fashionable girls with whom he associated. Now, with 
the discovery of his love, came the discovery of the 
great distance between her whom he loved and himself. 


148 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


The problem worked itself slowly out ; but a day came 
at last when the lonely, anxious mother, away among 
New England hills, received the tidings that he whom 
she loved was saved, that he had given his allegiance 
to the Lord Christ, and that he had won the hand of 
the ‘ ‘ noblest Christian woman on earth except you, 
mother.” 

Thus from the flame of divine love in one heart a 
spark is caught and carried to kindle another into 
flame, and so on and on, and there is warmth and 
brightness and cheer through all this weary, heart -sick 
world wherever the love of Christ has shined. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE SUMMER FIRES 

T he spring months passed swiftly to Florence 
Rodnor, busy with teaching and with work in 
church and Sunday-school, for she had been 
pressed into active service in Mr. McDonald’s church 
and was proving what metal she was made of in willing, 
efficient service. 

The little home on Crawford Street -was full of quiet 
happiness and content. Some old friends were left to 
Mrs. Rodnor and Folly and many new ones were made 
through the latter’s new church relations. Professor 
and Mrs. Adams, above all, were unfailing in kindness 
and appreciation. Often they would come in and spend 
a pleasant evening, the professor frequently reading 
aloud some noteworthy magazine article, or an essay on 
a theme of literary interest by some close thinker. A 
whole new world was opened before Florence by this 
means and her old inclinations toward thoughtful read- 
ing and study began to assert themselves. The light 
novels which had been her principal mental food for 
the past years, — consumed, as some one says, one after 
the other as the smoker consumes cigars, — ^became dis- 
tasteful to her. She read and thought for herself and 
her intellectual ability developed fast. Mrs. Adams, 

149 


150 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


and others of the professors’ wives whom she met at 
that lady’s house, invited her to join their literary 
societies and to be present at ‘ ‘ faculty parties, ’ ’ where 
she was sure to meet some of the most cultured people 
of the city. But Florence steadily refused all invita- 
tions, and Mrs. Adams, while she sincerely desired her 
presence, admitted to the girl that she thought it the 
wisest thing she could do just at present. 

Meanwhile, my dear,” she said, I shall see to it 
that, when the time comes that you are ready to go, the 
invitations are not wanting.” 

All this time Florence saw almost nothing of Doctor 
Griffith. Occasionally she met him passing in and out 
of Professor Adams’ house. Sometimes they met at 
church, but the doctor devoted the most of his time on 
Sunday to a mission enterprise in the lowest part of the 
city. Once that spring he called at the house and they 
spent an hour of real happiness to both ; their talk was 
of books, of teaching, of work among the poor. When 
he bade her good-night, Florence thought : He will 
come again and again and again now ; I do think he 
has enjoyed it,” and she ran upstairs singing, her heart 
as glad as a bird. But he did not call again and week 
after week went by. He knew that night that if he 
did call again, he must give up the task he had set 
himself, and this he would not do. 

But summer had come now. The sweet freshness of 
June had given place to the glare of July. It shim- 
mered and glowed over all the city streets, and the 
foliage burned and shriveled in the scorching heat. 


THE SUMMER FIRES 


151 


There was a drought and earth and heaven seemed 
parched for rain. All the world had left the city ; 
only those whose wealth or whose poverty had kept 
them there, stayed now. 

Her work over for a season, Florence found that she 
was really very tired. She had been under excitement 
and high pressure continuously for the past year and 
she was exhausted now. The heat had never seemed 
so nearly unendurable to her before. She could not go 
out of the house ; there were few of her friends in town ; 
and the long days were lonely. They had always been 
among the mountains or by the seashore, where things 
were green and pleasant around them , before this in the 
summer and the change was depressing indeed. Craw- 
ford Street was new. The yards were nearly grassless, 
and the rows of trees, which had been hopefully 
planted, withered and dried by the intense heat, were 
now little more than stalks with a cluster of rustling 
leaves at the tops ; they gave no shade. The blank, 
light -colored houses reflected the scorching heat and 
seemed to make it like the furnace of Nebuchadnez- 
zar, one seven times hotter.’’ 

Florence, lying on a couch one morning in the dark- 
ened parlor, ready to faint with the heat, thought of 
shady woodland nooks, of clear brooks trickling over 
cool, mossy stones, of breezy mountains, of the sea. 
It was nearing the close of July, and already the slug- 
gishness and oppression of a terrible August were upon 
the air. ‘‘How can I live through it here?” she 
thought, and as she pressed her hand over them, tears 


152 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


would make their way from her burning eyes. The 
postman, who did not wait in these exhausting days for 
an answer to his summons, rang and at the same time 
threw the letters he had brought into the little entry, 
closed the door and went on his weary round. 

Florence rose languidly and went into the hall. She 
stooped and picked up several letters and a paper. 
One of the letters was marked Facedown, N. H., and 
by this, as well as the handwriting, Florence knew it 
was from Mrs. Adams, who had gone there with her 
family to spend the professor’s vacation among the 
mountains. Florence drew a curtain to let in a little 
ray of light, just enough to allow her to read the letter. 
As she unfolded it, a small paper dropped into her lap. 
On opening this, she discovered that it was a check for 
fifty dollars. ‘‘ What can this mean?” thought Flor- 
ence. Mrs. Adams paid my salary before it was due; 
she doesn’t owe me anything.” Laying the check on 
the table, she proceeded to read the letter, which was 
very brief and as follows 

Dear Girl : I wrote you awhile ago how lovely it was 
here, with the mountains and the dark, cool woods and the 
“prattling brooks” where the ferns grow. You would 
enjoy it intensely, just how much after that terror of a 
scorching city, I know. Well, we are not satisfied, after 
all. There are nice people here, fashionable and unfashion- 
able, the hopping and the naturalistic kind ; we belong to 
the latter, you understand. They are all well enough, but 
the general complaint is, there isn’t any— The chil- 
dren wail for Miss Florence. Justin declares that you are 
the only good listener he ever had, and he is accumulating 


THE SUMMER FIRES 


153 


more magazines for your benefit than I would dare tell 
you of ; and as for myself, I miss you sadly, dear, and want 
you here to make us complete with your presence. Will 
you rejoice all our hearts by packing a small trunk and 
taking the train for Worcester day after to-morrow morn- 
ing? You will reach Racedown by stage from B at six 

o’clock in the evening. I have enclosed a check, which I 
want you to use for your traveling expenses. You under- 
stand, it is for our own selfish enjoyment that we send it. 
With the best love of the children. 

Your friend always, 

Mary Adams. 

‘‘Mamma, please read that,’’ said Florence, going 
into the next room wFere her mother was. Her eyes 
were full of tears now, but they were of a different kind 
from those which she had tried to press back a few 
moments before. Her mother read the letter and her 
face was beautiful with joy and gratitude. 

“My darling child!” she said, drawing Florence 
down and kissing her. “ How I have been studying 
to find a way to send you into the country for this next 
month. I have seen that you would break down if you 
did not have a change, but I did not see how to bring 
it about.” 

“God takes good care of me, doesn’t he?” said 
Florence, with a smile on her quivering lips. “But, 
mamma, you must go too ; I cannot leave you here to 
endure this weather alone. ’ ’ 

“My dear little girl/’ said her mother decidedly, 
“ you are not to have such a thought as that you must 
give this up on my account. I am perfectly well this 


154 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HEKSELF 


summer and do not feel the heat as you do at all. I 
have had an easy, restful spring, while you have been 
working with might and main. I do not feel the need 
of change or rest, but this has come at the time of need 
for you, and I am thankful beyond expression.” 

Isn’t Mrs. Adams lovely? ” exclaimed Florence. 

<< Very, very kind, and how you will enjoy being with 
them ! I want you to start to-morrow morning. Her 
letter was mailed yesterday, so we will go and see about 
your dresses at once.” 

“I think I have enough ready,” said Florence. 
‘ ‘ Oh, what a happy, happy girl I am ! ’ ’ and she ran 
lightly upstairs, heat and weariness all forgotten. 

The next morning Florence took the train at eight 
o’clock, bound for Facedown, for green pasture and 
still waters. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A BUNDLE OF LETTEES 

T he following are portions of letters written by 
several different persons during the month follow- 
ing the events of the last chapter : 

Racedown, July 31. 

My Dear Robert : Just to keep my hand in in the line of 
benevolence during this time of summer ease and idleness, 
I am going to try to send you frequent accounts of the 
doings of our party here “ among the hills. How I wish 
there might be rest and vacation for you, but I know you’ll 
“ none of it,” so I won’t annoy you with urging it. I hear 
that the heat is fearful in the city, and that there is a great 
deal of sickness ; so I suppose you have your hands full as 
usual. 

Florence Rodnor joined us last week ; the child needed a 
change. She is pale and worn with the heat and her year’s 
work, but the mountain breezes here are bringing her color 
back, and she is the blithest, sweetest girl in the house, as 
well as the prettiest. The children were fairly wild with 
delight when she came, and made quite a pretty scene on 
the hotel piazza welcoming her. Her arrival has evidently 
made some little sensation ; you know her looks and that 
air she has about her always attract notice. She has been 
beset with introductions, calls, and attentions from all the 
young folks here. They w^ere getting up a hop for last 
evening, and expected to press her into the service to lend 
brightness to the occasion, for the interest in these hops is 

155 


156 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


running rather low. There seems to be a dawning sense 
that they are stale, flat, and unprofitable,’^ and even the 
suspicion that amid the strength of God’s hills his creatures 
can do better than to spend the glorious summer nights in 
hot, crowded rooms dancing. Well, I was interested in see- 
ing the way in which she took their urging. ‘‘ Why, I 
don’t dance,” she would exclaim pleasantly. 

Miss Rodnor ! Excuse me, but a young lady like you — 
I can scarcely believe it.” 

1 don’t say that I can’t dance, but I don’t like to, I 
never do, and never mean to again. I wouldn’t spend to- 
morrow evening in that stupid, close room dancing for any- 
thing I can imagine. Just think what I should have to 
give up ; those mountains against the sky and all the stars 
around them, and the cool, fragrant air, not to mention the 
society of my friends, everything, in fact, that I came to 
Racedown for. You are very kind to want me, but I must 
be excused.” 

They got it into their heads at last that she meant what 
she said. They could not be offended, she was so sweet 
and gracious about it, but they were disappointed enough. 
It is evident that it will be difficult for Florence to avoid 
being drawn into the regular routine of mountain gayeties. 
I rather advise her to go with the other young people on 
picnics and long w^alks and excursions of various kinds, but 
she does not seem to incline to it. I think the reason is 
that she finds very few of the young people congenial to 
her, and they remind her rather unpleasantly of her old 
life. You know the kind of people wJio fill up a hotel in 
the mountains in the summer. We have a very pleasant 
circle, however, of a different order ; the professor has 
found several old college friends and their wives, several 
very nice girls and students have joined us, and we have 
long rambles, following up the brooks and discovering en- 
chanting nooks where we have our dinner, and then per- 
haps a bit of Tennyson or Wordsworth, or some other de- 


A BUNDLE OF LETTERS 


157 


licious poetry, for I have positively interdicted metaphysics. 
Don’t you think I am right about it? 

P. S. If you have a spare half-hour write to your Cousin 
Mary. 

, August 3. 

Dear Mary : It is very good of you to take pity on me 
in my loneliness. I appreciated the attention highly, and 
beg that it may be repeated. I had forgotten that there 
were such things as brooks and woodland shades and all 
those things, and your letter was refreshing. The heat and 
humidity are terrific here, not the scorching heat which 
we have been having, but a close, muggy air. A heavy op- 
pression seems to hang over the whole city ; people whom 
you meet in the street look despondent and dull, and many 
are overcome daily by the heat. 

As you suppose, I have my hands full. There are a few 
cases of typhoid in Glidden Street and that locality, but 
these are under control, and every measure is being used to 
prevent the fever becoming epidemic. I am glad Miss Rod- 
nor is resting, and with you ; I can imagine that she will 
be sought after and admired wherever she goes, but I have 
no fear of her weakening now. 

We are all well, father and I ; mother is at Narragansett, 
and I shall send father next week. Tell the professor I 
say a truce to his metaphysics. If he begins dosing Miss 
Rodnor with them now I shall have to send her a whole 
case of medicine to take as an antidote. The girl can’t 
stand it. If I were there I’d read you some German poetry ; 
but I’m not, and probably it is better that I am not. Don’t 
fail to write again soon. As ever, 

Robert. 

PAGEDOWN, August 15. 

My Dear Rob : I’m afraid you will think this is not keep- 
ing my promise to write often. Forgive me ; the time is 


158 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELE 


full even when one does nothing. I suppose we shall be 
going back to town in a fortnight now. College opens early 
next month, and Justin wants to be on hand a week before 
at least. I should like to spend September here ; you almost 
frighten me with your account of tlie heat and sickness at 
home; but I shall not “desert Mr. Micawber ” yet, I 
guess, so our time begins to look short. 

It makes my heart ache to think of you, poor fellow, 
working so hard and giving yourself no rest. I suppose 
physicians are mortal, after all, and I tell you honestly, 
Robert, that I fear you will come to a time, by and by, 
when you will allow that you have taxed yourself beyond 
what you were justified in doing. I wish you did not have 
to visit in that wretched Glidden Street ; there is disease in 
every breath you draw there. No wonder the people there 
have typhoid, living as they do. 

It seems actually selfish for us to be enjoying this pure 
mountain air, while you’re penned up between brick walls, 
spending your days among those poor, suffering, degraded 
people. And yet I know that you are doing a manly part, 
and what you feel to be duty. I know for whose sake you 
do it too, and I do not fear that He will leave you to work 
alone. I have thought much of you, and the ^vords have 
seemed to attach themselves to you, “Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto 
me.” 

I showed Florence your letter. She seemed to find a 
great deal in it, more than I did, I confess, for I thought it 
very short ; but it took her a good while to read it, and — I 
will whisper it to you — it was very pretty to see her color 
come and go as she read it. She has passed through a 
rather severe ordeal since I wrote to you, but she seems as 
happy and bright as ever now. I wonder if you would be 
interested in hearing about it? I think I will risk it. 

A w^eek ago to-day we took our dinner by an old mill in 
the woods at a little distance up the mountain. It was 


A BUNDLE OF LETTERS 


159 


quite late in the afternoon when we came down, and it 
happened that Florence and I were walking together, 
nearly the last of the company. The path through the 
woods was quite narrow and rough. I was picking my way 
along when I heard a little exclamation from Florence, and 
looking up saw coming toward us a gentleman with a lady 
upon his arm. The gentleman had a fast, dissipated look ; 
the lady I saw, as they came nearer, was really beautiful in 
a cold, statuesque style. Can you guess who they were ? I 
did not until I glanced up at Florence to make some casual 
comment, and saw that she had lost every vestige of color, 
even from her lips, and had an absolutely frightened look. 

By this time we met them squarely, and as we moved 
aside to let them pass, Florence bowed. There was an in- 
solent something about the man which made me look him 
full in the face, and I saw that although he flushed he made 
no response to her greeting, while the lady stared at Flor- 
ence without the slightest sign of recognition. Just as they 
passed us this man said, loud enough for us to hear dis- 
tinctly, ^‘Rather cool, I call that!’’ and the lady’s reply 
was, “ Rather,” plainly referring to Florence’s salutation. 

I hardly dared to look at Florence after that ; I did not 
wish to ask a question, but she spoke, her voice trembling, 
and said, “Did I do wrong to bow to them? I thought I 
ought, but perhaps I w^as wrong ; she has cut me before, 
and he — you know who he was.” 

“ I can guess,” I said ; and then I told her that I thought 
she had behaved in the only right way. She had every- 
thing to forgive Mr. Carter, far more than he had her, and 
it was a Christian action to treat him cordially. 

This w^as all that she said on the way home, and she did 
not leave her room again until quite late in the evening, 
when she came and took my arm and walked up and down 
the piazza where I had been standing. I saw that she had 
been crying, but she was calm and cheerful then. 

“Dear Mrs. Adams,” she said, “don’t be troubled about 


160 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


what happened tliis afternoon. I should not have minded 
it so much, only it was the first time I had seen him since — 
since our engagement was broken, and it all rushed back 
upon me so suddenly, our last meeting and all that I went 
through, and the shame of it was so great ! You can never 
know — no other woman whom you care for has ever sinned 
as I have. But I have been praying for help, and I think 
it was all right to have it come just as it did. I believe I 
needed humiliating. I know better than you do how vain 
and weak my heart is. And now I have fought my battles 
over again,” she said cheerily. ‘‘And God has helped me, 
and nothing can ever hurt me so again, not in just that way. 
Only if they are here it is better for me to go home again.” 

I told her that Justin had inquired and found that Mr. 
Carter and Miss Caxton were staying at the Bluff House, 
four miles from here, and had only driven over for the 
afternoon, and that I had seen them start on their return. 

I think all this told upon Florence more than she knew 
herself at the time, for she looked pale and hollow-eyed 
and a little sad for a number of days, but she is herself 
now, and as full of enthusiasm and spirit as ever. 

There, haven’t I written a long letter and told a long 
story ? How I wish you were here and had been that after- 
noon. I never did see a man who needed to be properly 
punished as did that Carter ; but you wouldn’t have con- 
descended to do it, I know. 

Good-bye. Do take care of yourself, Robert. 

Your cousin, 

Mary. 

, August 25. 

Dear Mary : Your letter was interesting and not too 
long. I should have replied before, but have been busy 
every hour of the day and often much of the night. In 
spite of all precautions, typhoid fever is spreading very 
fast in the lower part of the town, there being new cases 


A BUNDLE OF LETTERS 


161 


every day. I am confident, however, that in the section 
where you live there is no more danger than in a dif- 
ferent city. 1 have had your premises overlooked, and 
am satisfied that there is no imperfect drainage upon them, 
and the same has been done for Mrs. Rodiior. I do not 
think you need hesitate about coming back to town if you 
are properly careful and all in good condition. 

I am not at all sure that I might not have given Neil 
Carter a good thrashing if opportunity had offered. After 
all, he only acted out his real nature. What can you ex- 
pect ? You know Miss Procter’s little song. 

For as gold is tried by fire. 

So the heart must be tried by paiu 

It is an old truth but a vital one, and the best have to suffer 
most, I sometimes think. All the same it gives me a fierce 
glow of wrath to think of a woman like Florence being 
wounded and cut to the heart by such a man. I believe, 
however, she is right ; he can never hurt her again. I am 
glad she has a woman like you to comfort her. 

I wish that I could expect to see you immediately upon 
your return, but I cannot. Don’t be surprised if I am lost 
to sight for months. I see plainly that I must give up all 
my regular practice, for several of us will have our hands 
full for some time with the fever patients. Don’t let Justin 
try to hunt me up, 1 would better not see him ; but write a 
line or two sometimes. For the rest, don’t think of me as 
a melancholy exile, for the fact is I am in perfect health 
and spirits, and horrible as the fever is, the experience is 
very valuable to me. I have no dread of the contagion, 
being exceedingly careful to use every preventive, and be- 
yond that the matter is in other hands than mine. Give 
me Godspeed and your prayers, not for me only, but for 
those sufferers who turn to me for help in their agony, 
which God alone can give. As ever, 

Robert. 


L 


162 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


Extract from Mrs. Adams’ letter to Doctor Griffith : 

You may be sure that we pray for you and for those 
among whom you are working. Bertha and Marian, 
in the fullness of their hearts, which must have some 
expression, are making an elaborate collection of ferns 
and mosses to present you with when you return from 
quarantine. You are canonized to them, Eobert, now and 
evermore, and I hold it a precious thing to stand as an ideal 
in such pure, earnest, young hearts. We think of you 
almost hourly, and I believe there is one among us, besides 
my girls, who has enshrined you. Florence says very little, 
but she has possessed herself of your letter, and if I am 
not greatly mistaken her tears have fallen upon it, and her 
prayers have arisen over it. All she said when I read it to 
her was, “ It is the manliest letter I ever read.’’ 

I am inclined to think that Justin will hunt you up very 
soon after our return. We break up here in two days now. 
We have no apprehension in returning to town since you 
think it safe. Many thanks for what you have done for us. 
Florence joins me in thanks, and sends her kind regards. 
I shall not fail to communicate often with you. 


Maky. 


CHAPTEK XXVIII 


THE FEVER 

S EPTEMBEK had passed and October had come 
and with it cool air and refreshing rains, but still 
the fury of the fever and a train of kindred dis- 
eases waxed worse and worse. An isolated case here 
and there in the better portions of the city increased 
the general fear almost to a panic, but with these ex- 
ceptions the epidemic was confined to the lowest parts 
of the city, to the homes of the wretched and degraded 
poor. Among them the pestilence carried on its work 
upon an awful scale. Babies in their mothers’ arms 
sickened and died ; the mothers, with their love supreme 
in the hours of supreme danger, held the little, pallid, 
suffering forms close in their arms, and died themselves 
in a few days of the dying breath of their babies. 
Aged, bed-ridden men and women were no less often 
stricken than the young and strong ; all stood in equal 
danger. A few devoted physicians and nurses fought 
hand to hand with the foe in those foul, crowded tene- 
ment houses, breathing the vitiated air day after day, 
granting themselves neither rest nor ease. 

Florence Rodnor, going daily to her teaching at Pro- 
fessor Adams’, heard frequent tidings of Doctor Grif- 
fith, for the professor kept close upon his track, seeing 

163 


164 


WHEK SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


him occasionally in spite of the doctor’s reluctance. 
She heard of his faithful ministering to the sufferers 
and of the wonderful skill he was developing in the 
treatment of the fever. 

“If the boy comes out of this alive,” said the pro- 
fessor one day, ‘ ‘ he has won his place in the foremost 
ranks of his profession ; his success is almost unparal- 
leled ! ” 

The locality where the fever raged with greatest 
effect was the same as that in which the doctor had for- 
merly done mission work on Sundays, of a different 
kind ; the chapel where he had taught and even 
preached, Florence heard now, was on Glidden Street. 
He was already well known in the homes to which 
he came day after day, and known not merely as a 
physician but as a Christian man. 

They heard of how he prayed with the dying and 
with those whose hearts were broken by the loss of all 
that humanized them, their mothers, their little ones, 
their wives or husbands. Often, it was said, there was 
no priest or minister. It was he who pronounced the 
words, “Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” and then 
turned from coffins to beds of death, and from them to 
those just attacked, to meet the agonized look of sus- 
pense hanging upon his face, and the question, “Is it, 
is it the fever?” He had left his father’s house and 
taken lodgings in a little German inn on the very 
edge of the city, where the air was pure and where for 
the sake of the high price he paid, his landlord was 
willing to run the risk of contagion. He drove back 


THE FEVER 


165 


and forth early in the morning and late at night, and 
often it was nearly dawn before he would reach his little 
whitewashed room and throw himself upon his bed for 
a few hours’ heavy sleep. 

How does he look, Justin?” asked Mrs. Adams 
one day after her husband had had a moment’s talk 
with the doctor on the sidewalk on his way to, not 
from, the ‘ ^ typhoid district. ’ ’ 

‘ ^ W ell, Mary, he has grown very thin and haggard 
and his eyes have that solemn, awestruck look of one 
who sees death face to face every day and all day long ; 
but still there is no look of illness about him, and he 
speaks with perfect cheerfulness as far as he himself is 
concerned. He thought this morning that there was 
a little light ahead. There have been fewer deaths 
during the last few days, as we saw in the paper, and 
fewer new cases. But he speaks most intensely of 
the horrible character of the tenements down there in 
Glidden Street ; he declared that the only wonder is 
that typhus and diphtheria and every malignant disease 
do not rage there continually. His wrath is aroused 
against the rich men who are making money out of the 
renting of these miserable pestilence-breeding shells, 
and I agree with him.” 

^ ‘ Did you give him my message ? ’ ’ 

Yes, and he sent his love to all, and asked particu- 
larly about you. Miss Florence. I told him you Avere 
looking a little pale and he dictated this prescription 
which he Avanted you to be sure to have filled.” 

Thank you,” said Folly, putting the little paper 


166 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


in her purse. It seemed to her almost sacred as being 
his thought of her. 

This conversation was held just as Folly was about 
to leave the house, and as she walked home she held 
her purse in her hand, enclosing that small and com- 
monplace object. It came from him a few hours 
ago, ’ ’ she said to herself. ‘ ‘ He sent it to me ; he 
thought of me in the midst of all,’’ and there was a 
sacred joy in her heart w^hich had been heavily op- 
pressed for many days. 

But at dusk, that same evening, sitting alone in the 
lire -lighted parlor there came over Folly an overwhelm- 
ing sense, such as she had never had before, of the ter- 
rible nature of the danger to which Robert Griffith was 
exposed. It seemed to her at that moment a certainty 
that she should never see him again. 

‘‘Yes,” she thought, great tears dropping down her 
cheeks, ‘ ‘ he will not be able to ward off the fever much 
longer ; he will work on until it has him in its grasp, 
and then he will lie dowm in that dreadful delirium, 
and we shall count the weary days until the fever has 
run its course. O God, my Father, help me then ! 
But oh, Robert, Robert, my soldier, my hero, my mar- 
tyr ! You are the only man I have ever loved or can 
love ! living or dying, though you may never know it, 
and though if you did you might not care for me ! ” 

A week from that day — it was toward the last of 
October — the presentiment of that hour was fulfilled. 

Florence walking home from doing an errand in the 
city met Professor Adams. She saw that he was agi- 


THE FEVER 


167 


tated and inquired, Has anything happened? What 
is the matter ? ’’ 

‘‘Eobert is ill,’’ he replied, and his face was very 
grave. 

‘ ‘ Is it the fever ? ’ ’ asked Florence, hardly audibly. 

‘‘Oh, yes, my child, it must have come, sooner or 
later. I do not see how we could hope for him to 
escape.” 

She put out her hand and clasped his, her large dark 
eyes searching his solemnly, and she said, “ May we 
not go to him ? ’ ’ 

“ I tell you, Mary,” the professor said afterward to 
his wife, “ I do not think the girl was conscious that 
she was showing me her very inmost heart. She was 
carried beyond forms and conventions. It was hard to 
turn her off, to tell her that he had the best profes- 
sional nurse and the constant care of a council of phy- 
sicians, and that he had himself left orders, when he 
knew his condition, that none of his family, not even 
his mother, must come there.” 

‘ ‘ Did she try to persuade you ? ’ ’ 

“ No, I saw that as soon as I spoke her sense of the 
situation returned, that she was distressed to have 
shown her heart as she had. I turned and walked a 
block with her, but she said very little, and was en- 
tirely calm and collected.” 

“What shall I do, Justin? It is so hard to tell. 
Shall I let her know what I am certain of, although 
he never told me in so many words, that Eobert loves 
her?” 


168 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


The professor did not reply at once. “ I believe it 
would be better not,’’ he said finally, ‘^although, as 
you say, it is a hard matter to decide. But I do not 
think it would comfort her, and it would only make it 
more difficult for her to stay away from him.” 

^ ‘ Yes, and then, ’ ’ added Mrs. Adams, with a woman’s 
perception, ‘ ‘ if he is ever able to tell her himself, it 
would be far more precious to her to hear it first from 
him, and if,” her voice falling low, ‘‘Kobert should 
not recover I can tell her by and by.” 

Work is one of God’s means of grace and so Flor- 
ence Rodnor found it in the next two weeks. The 
strain of suspense and dread could hardly have been 
borne if she had not been upheld by faith in God’s 
love and care, and by perseverance in her routine of 
duty in teaching, at home and at church. 

Word came to Professor Adams daily of Doctor 
Griffith’s condition and Florence heard it there. His 
case was of the severest type and aggravated by his 
long struggle against it. At first his delirium ran 
high, but after the first week he lay in a stupor and 
for days gave no sign of consciousness or of life beyond 
the faint move of pulse and breath. Toward the end 
of the second week he became more restless and suf- 
fered more. 

The fifteenth day came and the word was, Pulse 
weaker ; strength failing fast ; the patient has not 
slept nor taken food for two days. If a favorable 
change does not occur at once he cannot live many 
hours.” That was all. 


THE FEVER 


169 


0 Christ, hear us now.’^ And all night long that 
prayer, in an unceasing litany, went up from the little 
room where Florence kept her vigil. 

At first the burden of her prayer was only, Save 
his life,’’ but when night was far spent victory was 
won, the hardest won victory for us all, whereby we 
say with Christ in Gethsemane, Nevertheless not as I 
will, but as thou wilt.” With sunrise she fell asleep. 

It was a raw, chilly November morning with a 
misty rain in the dull, gray street blurring all the out- 
lines of trees and houses into indistinctness. Mrs. Rod- 
nor who had herself slept little, rose early, dressed, 
and as she came downstairs was surprised to hear foot- 
steps approaching the front door. She opened it and 
found that the early visitor was Professor Adams. 

‘‘Why, Mrs. Rod nor ! ” he exclaimed, taking her 
hand with a hearty grasp, and there was a ring of joy 
in his voice, although his appearance was worn and 
gaunt to the last degree. “ I did not expect to find you 
up so early, but I came to bring you the good news that 
Robert is a little better, and a little now means every- 
thing. I must hurry home to tell my wife. I wrote a 
few words,” handing her a slip of paper, “I will not 
stop to tell you what they are. You can read this and 
give it to Florence. Good-morning,” and he walked 
quickly away, eager to tell his wife who, he knew, was 
watching for him in suspense. 

Mrs. Rodnor read the brief note. It was as follows : 

I stayed in the house where Robert is through the night. 
About midnight he seemed to fall asleep, although at first 


170 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


they were not sure but it was death. He slept quietly until 
five o’clock and awoke, too weak to speak, but evidently 
conscious. His improvement must be gradual, almost im- 
perceptible, but the doctors say they have full expectation 
now of his recovery. J. Adams. 

Mrs. Kodnor went softly up to Folly’s room, where 
she found her, as she had hoped, asleep. She slipped 
the note into one slender hand which lay uneasily above 
her head on the pillow, and came away fearful of awaken- 
ing her. 

An hour later when Folly awoke it was to her as if 
she found the very answer to her prayers clasped in her 
hand. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


CONCLUSION 

A bout a month from that time Doctor Griffith em- 
barked on a sailing vessel, the Zarafan,” bound 
for the Mediterranean, on a six months’ voyage. 
His recovery had been, as was expected by his phy- 
sicians, extremely gradual, and now after a month of 
comparative convalescence he was still as weak as a 
child. The fever was still prevailing, although on the 
decline, and as soon as he could be dressed the doctor 
began to think of visiting his patients. Weak and 
almost childish, it was difficult to convince him of the 
impossibility of liis doing this. The opposition troubled 
and harassed him, and it was evident that he must be 
sent away for the sake of avoiding care and anxiety as 
well as for a change of air and scene. He himself was 
eager to go as soon as it was proposed, and with a brief 
leave-taking and little ceremony he set sail from New 
York a week before Christmas Day. 

Relieved from the heavy oppression which had been 
upon her ever since her return to town, for the fever 
lost its power rapidly as the sharp Christmas weather 
set in, and there was a cheerful reaction everywhere as 
well as in her own experience, Florence gave herself 
heartily to the winter’s work and enjoyment. 


171 


172 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


Her teaching went on with renewed interest, and her 
association with Professor Adams' family was more in- 
timate than ever. She no longer declined invitations, 
and was frequently present at literary gatherings and 
at other pleasant companies of cultivated people. 

In these circles Florence was greatly admired. The 
year of earnest work and study and of the life of relig- 
ious purpose had developed in her a sweet and noble 
womanliness, and her influence over girls younger than 
herself was unusual. In time Florence Kodnor had 
come to a new and noble social popularity. 

A little remark which one acquaintance made to 
another shows a peculiarity, however, of her manner at 
this time. 

‘ ‘ She seems in every way the kind of girl to have 
lovers by the score, and it is easy to see that all young 
men think her charming ; but do you notice at what a 
distance she keeps them, although so gracefully that 
they hardly know it ? Her manner is like that of a 
married woman ; she seems so utterly indifferent to the 
attentions of young men." 

Hardly a voice reached Florence from the old fash- 
ionable world. There was room enough for it to hold 
its own way aside from all that made up life to her now. 

In January, with great pomp and show, Celia Caxton 
was married to Neil Carter. Soon afterward Florence, 
by a strange chance, stood on a crosswalk one after- 
noon waiting for a handsome carriage to pass, and 
glancing in at the window, she saw that the lady inside 
in full reception dress was Mrs. Neil Carter, and that 


CONCLUSION 


173 


the diamond necklace blazed upon her throat which a 
year before Neil had proposed buying for herself. 
‘ ‘ Poor girl, ’ ’ she thought ; ‘ ‘ I hope she is not so 
wretched as I was ! What power could induce me to 
change places with her now ? ’ ’ 

In church and Sunday-school Folly worked with an 
enthusiasm which was an inspiration to every one who 
came in contact with her. She went to and fro with 
the Ross girls, who were devoted to her, and whom she 
sincerely loved and honored, and of whom she was 
never again ashamed. But she did not develop into 
one of those church -workers familiar everywhere, of 
marked “ executive ability,” the leading spirits in ba- 
zaars and entertainments, but spiritually nil. The 
machinery of those things was distasteful to her, and 
she was glad that Mr. McDonald was like-minded, and 
that there was in his church less effort made at money - 
getting for purpose of decorations and small furnishings, 
and more earnest, direct work for souls than in most 
churches. To this work she consecrated herself, and 
her personal talk and persevering prayers in and for her 
own class resulted in great good. 

Thus she lived well and faithfully in all the different 
lines of her life, and the spirit of her life was caught up 
and reproduced in the lives of the younger girls, who 
looked up to her almost as an ideal. Not that Folly — 
for she was Folly still to many old friends — was perfect, 
or had attained all that was to be attained. She was 
faulty still, and a creature not too bright or good for 
human nature’s daily food ’ ’ ; but she was trying to 


174 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


live to the praise of Him who had redeemed her, and 
she was in earnest. 

But there were times through all this busy, pleasant 
life of Florence’s when all the love which bound her to 
one far away — love unacknowledged, but dimly guessed 
by both — mastered her with pain and longing. 

There were days when the plaintive little song, 
‘‘What’s this dull town tome? Robin’s not there,” 
was on her lips, and the burden of it heavy on her 
heart. 

The last time that Florence had seen Doctor Griffith 
had been six months before he sailed. It was April 
now, and he would not return until July. The 
“ Zarafan’s ” arrival at Sorrento had been mentioned 
in the shipping news, but no further tidings had been 
received from the traveler as yet. 

One warm afternoon, when even the meagre trees in 
Crawford Street seemed almost persuaded to put forth 
a green bud here and there, and when various hopeful 
robins darted to and fro in the sunny air in quest of 
“rooms to let to single gentlemen,” or to married 
people with very small families, pretty Florence in her 
pretty parlor was entertaining a visitor. Miss Lucretia 
Vickery. 

Miss Vickery was one of those young ladies of uncer- 
tain age who are feebly defended by their lady friends, 
and who are objects of dread to their gentleman ac- 
quaintances. She was vain and sentimental, and she 
had the little learning which is a “dangerous thing.” 
On this particular afternoon her call had lasted an hour, 


CONCLUSION 


175 


and still she chatted on. Florence had a certain liking 
for her, born of pity for her unpopularity, perhaps, 
and always tried her best to make her visits agreeable ; 
but she was beginning now to wonder that she did not 
go, when, a little to her dismay. Miss Vickery launched 
out into a fresh subject with the remark, delivered in 
her usual high pitched, emphatic voice : 

‘‘ Don’t you love music. Miss Kodnor? ” 

Florence was casting about her for some sort of a 
reply to this ‘‘glittering generality,” when she heard 
a step on the walk and the bell was rung. 

Mary opened the door, and Florence dropped the 
vague remark that she w^as absently trying to manufac- 
ture, and for a moment her heart stood still and every 
trace of color left her face as she heard a well-remem- 
bered voice asking : 

‘ ‘ Is Miss Rodnor at home ? ’ ’ 

Immediately afterward Doctor Griffith entered the 
room. 

Florence rose, and going forward, gave him her 
hand without one word — it was impossible for her to 
speak at that moment. She was half frightened at the 
look in his eyes as they rested upon hers. She turned, 
and in a low, excited voice, and with a slight gesture, 
said : 

‘ ‘ Miss Vickery, Doctor Griffith ; I do not know if 
you have met before.” 

A look of grim gravity fell upon Doctor Griffith’s 
face as he turned and bowed ceremoniously to Miss 
Vickery, whom he had not seen until that moment. 


176 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


Oh, yes ! ” exclaimed that lady, rising and walk- 
ing up to him with enthusiastic pleasure manifest in her 
manner ; ‘‘the doctor and I are old friends, aren’t we, 
doctor ? ” 

This was acknowledged by another grave bow. 

“ I am sure I am perfectly delighted to welcome you 
back to your native land. How glad I am that I hap- 
pened to be here ! I was beginning to think of going, 
but Miss Rodnor has such a charming way of keeping 
one. How well you are looking too ! You must be 
quite recovered, by your looks. Such a good color ! 
Oh, you had the sympathy of all of us, doctor, in your 
terrible, terrible illness. So noble of you too, to sacrifice 
yourself to those sick people ! ” 

Here the doctor frowned and bit his lip, but did not 
attempt to stem the tide of her eloquence. 

“ Why, I was perfectly carried away with your hero- 
ism, for that is what I call it — heroism, nothing else. 
I am sure you would do for the hero of a book. I 
have had thoughts of writing one ; you must look out 
for yourself in it if I ever do. But did you stay in 
Europe as long as you expected ? I thought you went 
for six months, and — let me see. Why, I’m sure you 
haven’t been away half that yet.” And she resumed 
her seat. 

Here there was a pause, and Florence took advantage 
of it to give Doctor Grifiith a chair, at the same time 
saying, her voice still very low : 

‘ ‘ How did it happen ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ When I got to Sorrento, three weeks ago, I was so 


CONCLUSION 


177 


far recovered that it did not seem necessary to make 
the return trip in the same way. I thought I might as 
well return by a fast steamer, which I accordingly did. ’’ 
Giving Florence no time to speak, Miss Vickery ex- 
claimed shrilly : 

Then you have only just arrived. I consider my- 
self very fortunate in being one of the first to welcome 
you. I shall have the pleasure of telling our mutual 
friends, doctor, that I have seen you, and that you are 
looking — I must say it — admirable. ’ ’ 

Again the doctor gnawed his moustache. 

When did you say you arrived, doctor? she pro- 
ceeded. 

‘‘Ido not remember that I said,’’ was his reply. 
“ I landed in New York yesterday.” 

‘ ‘ Indeed ! I am sure Miss Rodnor ought to feel 
really quite flattered to think you should call upon 
her so soon. Don’t you now, my dear?” And Miss 
Vickery looked from the corners of her eyes at Flor- 
ence, who sat motionless, her face white, her eyes 
downcast. 

“ How much you must have to tell us about ! ” she 
soon began again, returning to the charge with undis- 
couraged zeal, as she received no reply from Florence. 

“Of course you went to Rome ? Oh, how I long to 
see that wonderful city ! The queen of the world, the 
cradle and the grave of empire, is it not ? How inter- 
esting ! I have heard persons say that there was some- 
thing truly wonderful in the place, and an enchantment 
in the very air. Did you feel it. Doctor Griffith? Of 

M 


178 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


course you did ; he must be soulless indeed who could 
fail to feel the magic spell ! This was said with such 
intensity that the speaker almost trembled, and looked 
about her as if to annihilate any soulless beings who 
might happen to be lurking in Miss E-odnor’s parlor. 

I think I have heard something of the nature you 
mention,” was Doctor Griffith’s dry response. ‘‘ I did 
not, however, go to Kome this time.” 

‘‘Is it possible? How could you resist the fascina- 
tion of the place ? But you gentlemen seem to have so 
little susceptibility.” Here Miss Vickery giggled a 
little. “ Of course you went to Versailles (Fare -si, she 
pronounced it) to see those celebrated fountains. I 
have heard so much about them, haven’t you. Miss 
Rodnor ? ’ ’ 

“ I stopped only one night in Paris,” returned Doc- 
tor Griffith, “ and saw nothing beyond the station and 
the hotel.” 

The conversation continued for half an hour in this 
wise, and then Miss Vickery reluctantly, and with 
many adieux and postscripts, took her leave. 

When the door w^as fairly closed after her, Florence 
drew a long breath and looked with half-anxious in- 
quiry at Doctor Griffith. His brows were contracted, 
and he looked persistently upon the floor, although 
there was the suggestion of a smile around his mouth. 

“ A romantic return, certainly,” he observed after a 
silence. “ If I had been told that I should have been 
received first of all with open arms by Lucretia Vickery 
I believe I should have stayed by the ‘ Zarafan.’ ” 



“They read backward the past year of their lives.” 

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CONCLUSION 


179 


‘‘ Have you not gone home yet? ” asked Florence a 
little timidly. 

‘‘No, I came in a straight line from Sorrento to 16 
Crawford Street. I landed late last night, left New 
York this morning, and came in town this afternoon on 
the three o’clock train. I hastened, as you see, to be 
welcomed by your young and ingenuous friend.” 

“Is your temper just a little bit bad?” asked 
Florence archly. 

“ It was in prime condition at three o’clock this af- 
ternoon ; but it has had a severe shock since then and 
needs careful nursing,” was the reply, and as their eyes 
met they both burst into merry laughter. 

“You haven’t told me you were glad to see me back 
yet,” said the doctor in the midst of their laughing. 

“ Glad ! I am too happy for words ; don’t you see I 
am? ” asked Florence, throwing aside all disguise and 
reserve. It seemed so unnecessary, and Kobert, poor 
fellow, had he not waited long enough ? 

This frankness and Florence’s radiant face dispelled 
the last vestige of cloud and made the discord for- 
gotten. 

“ Miss Vickery spoiled a scene I had been dreaming 
of for months,” said Doctor Griffith ; “a scene with a 
great deal to tell and a great deal to ask ; but maybe 
it is not too late to mend it yet.” 

Florence drew out a tiny gold watch, and held it up 
with a demure face. 

“ TAventy-five minutes past five, exactly,” she said. 

He grasped her little hand in his and held it fast 


180 


WHEN SHE CAME TO HERSELF 


while he chided her playfully for makiug light of what 
he had to say. So by and by seriousness fell upon 
them both as they read backward the past year of their 
lives and lived over some of its troubled and anxious 
hours, and together let their hearts rise in gratitude to 
Him who had watched between them while they had 
been absent one from another. And so, after all, 
though a little late, the open secret was told, the scene 
which Kobert Griffith had dreamed of by land and sea 
had its place, the question was asked, and a promise 
was given. 


THE END. 










MAY 10 1901 


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